


Lights and Clockwork

by Space_Cadet_Blues, Synekdokee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Slow Burn, Violence Against Androids (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 14:49:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Cadet_Blues/pseuds/Space_Cadet_Blues, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: When Cyberlife founder Elijah Kamski is found dead seemingly murdered at the hands of his pet project, Hank believes it to be an open and shut case.But not everything is what it seems.---(Based on the 2004 movie: I, Robot)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the HankCon Reverse Big Bang I was partnered with Synekdokee, whose wonderful artwork you'll find throughout the fic!

**The Three Laws of Robotics**

**First Law**

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

**Second Law**

A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

**Third Law**

A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

***

There’s a screech of brakes followed by the heavy grinding crunch of metal impacting metal. Car alarms blare loud and urgent into the night. Hank wakes, groggy and heavy limbed to the cacophony of noise. He throws off the covers in a dazed panic and climbs out of bed, heart pounding. The hall is dark but he finds his slippers at the threshold of the living room and quickly slips them on. As he turns to move towards the front door he notices something odd. 

Silence. 

Dead silence. 

No car alarms, no panicked shouts to indicate that an accident has happened. Nothing. The air seems eerily still, like it’s holding a palpable tension.

Cautiously he heads to the door and slowly pulls it open. The street is empty, houses dark. The only light comes from the street lamps, the orange glow bleeding across the sidewalk and spilling onto the road. Hank feels a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Like he’s being watched. 

He looks to the left and spots the silhouette of a boy standing at the end of the street. The street lamps above him flicker with a dangerous buzz and crackle of electricity, momentarily lighting his face. 

Hank’s heart leaps into his throat. He knows that boy. 

His feet start moving before his brain can catch up with him, he’s hurrying down the garden path and then jogging towards the figure before he’s even fully aware of it. 

“Cole!” he calls, heart lurching in his chest.

The boy turns and runs off down the neighbouring street, laughing as he disappears from sight. Hank takes off after him. When he turns the corner, suddenly it’s snowing. Hank knows he should feel cold standing out in the open in only his pyjama top and shorts but somehow the chill doesn’t reach him. The river lays in front of him, a section of rail broken open and twisted. There are two sets of muddy tire tracks that lead to the busted metal, the ground torn and littered with debris.

Cole is standing by the gaping hole in the rail, one little hand resting on a twisted spire of steel as he peers down into the water. 

Hank’s gut twists with dread. 

“Cole! Get away from there now.”

Cole turns to him slowly eyes wide and frightened. Suddenly he’s yanked into the air as though tugged by invisible strings, fractural light moving over his body, legs and arms kicking slowly as though he were under water. 

“No,” Hank sobs, breath clouding on the frigid air, “Cole.”

Cole’s mouth opens in a scream that Hank can’t hear. Robotic hands - a dozen of them - rise up from the river. They yank Cole over the edge and down into the water’s icy depths before Hank can blink. 

“Cole!”

Hank wakes with a start. He’s shivering, drenched in sweat. He peels off the damp covers and gasps for breath scrambling to sit at the edge of the bed. Dropping his face into his hands he sits and breathes for a few minutes. Deep breaths in and deep breaths out. Eventually he dares to glance at the clock. 5:35am. 25 minutes until his alarm is due to go off. Well, he certainly won’t be going back to sleep. 

He throws his pyjamas on top of the 2 week old laundry pile next to the hamper in the bathroom and takes a chilly shower to wake himself fully, ignoring the bone deep ache in his right shoulder. Psychosomatic his therapist had said. The brain echoing the loss of a limb. He flexes his prosthetic hand, once, twice. Examines the synthskin covering artificial nerves and muscle. It looks as real as his flesh and bone arm. Feels it too. It makes it easier to forget that a part of himself is lost. Replaced. Until the nightmares make his joints ache. 

Hank dresses in age-faded jeans and a garish orange and blue shirt before he half heartedly prepares breakfast. Pancakes with a large helping of syrup because fuck it, the sugar will make him feel a little better. If only temporarily. 

The dream lingers on the fringes of his mind, haunting his waking hours. Sometimes when he has those dreams, those nightmares about Cole, he doesn’t remember much when he wakes. Just gets a feeling in his gut that won’t go away. This time it was vivid. His mind attempts to replay it in detail but he puts a stop to it quickly, distracting himself by pouring some coffee and then adding a little drop of something stronger.

He leaves the house at 7am and decides to stop by Lorraine’s on his way to the station. As much as he hates to acknowledge her job, he’s aware Cyberlife have been contracted to work for the military recently so she has been swamped with work and likely hasn’t seen another human being in weeks. When she gets a new project she often never leaves the workshop in her apartment unless it’s to move to the bigger workshop at Cyberlife tower, so Hank takes it upon himself to keep her going by bringing her coffee and pastries. Something that hasn’t changed since their divorce. 

He picks up her usual large mocha and a cinnamon swirl and heads over to her apartment. He’s about to enter her building when the door to the lobby opens and an android steps out. AV500 is emblazoned on its orange jacket in UV lettering. Probably just finishing delivering someone’s package. It smiles courteously at Hank and steps to the side to let him in. Hank eyeballs it warily, his lip curling in disgust. But the android keeps right on smiling, green eyes crinkling at the corners like a humans.

“Have a nice day sir!” The thing chirps at him in a pleasant voice as he passes. 

Fucking androids. They’re everywhere. 

Hank can’t recall the last time the street had been filled with just people. Maybe when he was a kid. All he knows is that human beings have developed a dangerous dependency on the damn things. 

He reaches Lorraine’s apartment and wraps his knuckles on the door. He can hear the thump of bass-heavy music from within. Working then, as he suspected. He wonders if her neighbours have complained again. He has a habit of smoothing things over for her. 

He knocks once more and then there’s movement from within. A mad shuffling and then the lock rattling. Lorraine opens the door looking sweaty and ruffled, chestnut hair scraped back into a messy bun, glasses half way down her nose. There are bags under her eyes but her eyes themselves are bright. Interested. 

“I come baring gifts,” Hank says, holding up the coffee and the little brown bag containing the pastry. 

She makes an interested ‘Oo’ sound and makes grabby hands at the goods. He hands her the items and she turns back into her apartment. Hank follows, closing the door behind him. Where he usually avoids looking at the photos hanging in the hall, he finds his gaze drawn to them. He finds Cole’s face among them. Beaming out at him. His first day of school. Hank relaxes though his heart aches. He sighs, turning away. 

“Dare I ask what you’re working on?” he asks, walking further into the apartment and to the end of the hall where her workshop is. He leans against the doorframe watching her try to organise her cluttered work space. Mocha and pastry set down on a very cluttered table. 

“Only if you’ll hold your tongue. I have a deadline to meet and I’m not really open to scathing criticisms regarding my career choices right now,” she says, giving up on tidying. 

Hank mimes zipping his mouth shut and Lorraine gives him a look that says 'you had better fucking behave.’ This particular look Hank finds amusing now that they’ve been six years divorced. 

She takes the cinnamon swirl out of the little bag and takes a good large bite out of it before properly answering him around the mouthful. 

“Doing a few last tests for a new line of androids. You’ve probably seen them advertised by now.”

Hank has. The AP700, a new domestic model. There’s talk of military grade androids but Hank hasn’t been privy to in-depth information. The rumour mill churns on the internet and around the station and Lorraine neither confirms nor denies when he asks. She’s never been good at lying. Silence has always been her go-to when she doesn’t want to give anything away. 

“When do they launch again?” 

“A couple of days from now.” She says this with strained exasperation and Hank hums in acknowledgement. 

“I’ll take you out for pizza after the launch party.”

She smiles. “That sounds good. I need to fucking relax.” 

Hank glances around the room and spots the torso of an AP700 propped in the corner behind her. His heart sinks, he frowns.

Lorraine follows his line of sight, looking at the android and then back at Hank no doubt about to ask him not to make a big deal. Before she can however, he cuts her off.

“I should probably get to work. Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t expired mid tinkering.”

“I’m very much unexpired and this.” She shakes the remainder of the cinnamon swirl gently. “Will do me wonders. Thank you Hank.”

Hank smiles. “Any time.”

***

Hank exits the building and begins the 10 minute walk to the police station. As he walks he tries not to look around him. He doesn’t want to see children with nanny droids, robot assistants fetching their owners coffee or breakfast. Doesn’t want to see the advertisements. Doesn’t want a damn thing to do with any of it. 

Of course fate has a way of interjecting.

He’s walking across a bridge when he spots something out of the ordinary. An android, but it’s running. It passes under the bridge and he follows it, walking quickly to the other side to lean over the rail. In its hands is a black box of some kind. Has he ever seen one run like that before? Could it have stolen something? Something in his gut tells him to give chase, so he does. 

He watches the droid for a moment longer to get a sense of which direction it could be going in and then he’s off. He’s too old to run the thing down outright but he can cut it off if he can correctly guess where it’s headed.

He ducks down alleyways mind racing focussed on bringing this thing down. It _ must _ of stolen that box, why else would it be sprinting like that. He was right, those things are bad fucking news. 

He manages to overtake it; peering out from an alleyway he waits for an opportunity. Once it’s close enough he flies out of his hiding place and body slams the thing to the ground. Green eyes stare up at him in confusion. It clutches the box tightly to its chest. He’s about to yell at it, tell it to hand over the box when a voice cries out from the sidewalk behind him.

“What the hell are you doing! Markus, Markus are you alright?”

Hank whips around to see a furious looking elderly man approach in a wheelchair. Hank reluctantly lets go of the droid and stands. The android picks itself up and brushes itself down with its free hand. The small circle of light on its right temple indicating its mood swirling yellow before returning to a placid blue. 

“After a quick systems check I appear to be in optimal condition. No harm done,” it says.

“Good.”

Hank notes the old man’s gaze is soft. But when he turns to look at Hank it’s sharp and unforgiving. 

“What the hell are you playing at?”

A crowd is gathering. 

“I apologise.” Hank flashes his badge as though that might make the situation any better. It doesn’t. “I saw the android running and I assumed-“

“_ What _ did you assume?” the man asks incredulously. “I had forgotten my paints in the shop, Markus was collecting them for me.”

Hank looks between them, heat prickles the back of his neck and stains his cheeks a ruddy pink in embarrassment. 

“Right. I apologise.”

Before he can say anything else the old man shakes his head and motions for the android to come to him. The android tucks the paint box under its arm and goes to the back of the old man’s wheelchair, gripping the handles.

“Let’s get going.” 

The man throws Hank a disgusted look while Markus throws him a curious one before they turn away and continue on down the street leaving Hank to be giggled and stared at by onlookers.

***

Hank arrives at the office to find the old man had filed a complaint against him. Gavin, who had initially taken the call watches Hank walk past his desk, a shit eating grin on his face. Another officer - Tina Chen - holds her coffee mug to her mouth to cover her own amused smile. Hank ignores them and heads to his desk. 

“Don’t let your plastic pick you up anything for recreational activities Tina, Hank will tackle that shit to the ground,” Gavin says, raising his voice obnoxiously just to make sure that Hank can hear. 

Tina snorts into her coffee.

They only disperse when Captain Fowler exits his office glaring in their direction. He then marches over to Hank who sits at his desk hoping for him to just breeze right on by. No such luck. 

“Anderson.” Fowler leans in low so only Hank can hear. “What is this I’m hearing about you _ physically attacking _ androids in the street? In my office, now.”

Hank resists the urge to snort derisively. Here’s Jeffrey talking about androids like they’re damn people. Reluctantly he follows Fowler into the glass office at the back of the bullpen. Fowler sits at his desk and Hank - feeling like a teenager about to get the telling off of a lifetime - slumps into a chair opposite him.

“I’ve just got off the phone to Carl Manfred the man who’s android you so artfully tackled to the ground.”

“Jeff-“ 

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Fowler barks. 

Hank folds his arms defensively biting back the urge to rebuttal.

Fowler continues. “How many androids have committed theft? Hm? Robbery? How many robots in the _ world _ have ever committed a crime?”

Hank clenches his jaw. Technically. None. But Hank can’t shake the feeling there’s something off about them. Can’t shake the uneasy sinking feeling whenever one passes him in the street or serves him at a store.

“I need to hear you say it Hank.” Fowler says. His eyes are searching. Pleading. Giving Hank yet another chance to save his own ass from being fired. 

Hank sighs inwardly, he bites. “None,” he says quietly. 

“Then what happened today?” Fowler’s words are softer this time. 

It makes Hank’s blood boil. He doesn’t need his pity. “Nothing,” he bites out.

Fowler sits in contemplative silence for a moment before speaking again. “Are you sure you don’t want a break? Because you can take your time. Get whatever the hell this is out of your system... Hank I sympathise. I do. I know what happened isn’t something you really get over but you do have to move on. For your own sake. So, I’ll ask again, do you want to take some time off?”

“...no.” 

Fowler sighs. “Then this better be the last time I have to pull you into my office for some android related nonsense. Get your shit together, you hear me?”

He’s right Hank knows he’s right. That doesn’t stop him from being fucking pissed off about it. 

“Yeah. I hear you.”

Back at his desk Hank gets to work filling out paperwork and ignoring Gavin’s bullshit. But half way through the morning he gets a call. 

Cyberlife founder Elijah Kamski is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Hank arrives at Cyberlife tower, stomach hollow. Lorraine meets him at the entrance. Her hair now fastened into a neat bun, navy pantsuit clean if a little wrinkled. 

“I can’t believe it,” she breathes. Her eyes are slightly wet but she doesn’t cry. They may not have always seen eye to eye but she had tremendous respect for Kamski.

Kamski who now lays dead in the lobby, having apparently leaped from a broken window 10 floors up to his death. 

“I know,” Hank says looking towards the security doors that lead through to where Kamski lays. He doesn’t exactly feel tremendously sad. But the man had liked and respected Lorraine enough to help them when they needed it. He felt... Something. At least.

“They’re going to be conducting staff and stockholder meetings today, to try and keep everyone from panicking. I’ve got one with the other technicians soon,” Lorraine says, looking for all the world like she’d rather be anywhere but here. 

Hank feels a pang of sympathy. 

“And they couldn’t of waited a little longer? Jesus. Alright, You get to your meeting. I have a feeling I’ll want to take a look around so give me a call once you’re out.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, it’ll be alright,” he says, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Keep your chin up.” 

She nods, smiling weakly before heading off to the elevators. 

When Hank goes through the security doors and approaches the scene, he knows what awaits him. He’s spent most of his years in law enforcement and has pretty much seen it all by now. And yet it is viscerally upsetting to see this once proud man in such a state. Kamski was smarmy and not shy about letting you know just how intelligent he was. But now here he is, a bloody and macabre centrepiece in the heart of his small empire. In the end he was only human. 

One of the officers at the scene - Chris Miller - approaches him, a grave look on his face. “Lieutenant.”

“Chris. What have we got? aside from the obvious.”

“Mr Kamski appears to have jumped from his private lab on the 10th floor. The door was security locked from the inside, most definitely a suicide.”

“Has anyone been up to the lab yet?”

“Only to cordon it off. We were waiting for you to arrive. We found the holographic projector that sent you that message.” 

Chris leads him to a small round metal object laying several feet away from Kamski’s outstretched hand. 

“Thanks Chris, let’s get things wrapped up so we can get him out of here.”

Chris nods and heads off to observe the canvassing of the scene. 

“Activate,” Hank commands and a projection of Kamski materialises in front of him.

“Hello Lieutenant. Good to see you again,” Kamski's hologram says, still as smug as ever, clad in soft greys under a white lab coat. Arms behind his back and posture straight. “Everything that follows is the result of what you see here.”

“And what am I seeing here?”

“Please note that my responses are limited, so you must ask the right questions.”

Safe to say Hank has quite a few. He thinks for a moment before asking: “Why me?”

The hologram smiles. “I trust your judgement. You’re shrewd, bull headed but honest, and one of the few people who has never actually wanted anything from me despite being given a few hundred thousand dollars worth of new tech for free. How is the arm, by the way?”

Hank grits his teeth. “Just fine thanks. Bang up job. So there is something more to this? Usually suicide wouldn’t require a homicide detective.“

“Ah, that is true,” Kamski sing songs.

Hank already feels a little irritated. “Is there something you need me to know?” 

“My responses are limited, you must ask the right questions.”

“For the love of-“ Hank takes a moment to cool off. To think. He looks up to the broken window of Kamski’s lab. For the life of him he can’t think of a single reason why Kamski would take his own life, and in such a dramatic and traumatic way. Suddenly it clicks. 

“...Why would you want to kill yourself?”

Kamski smiles. “That, Lieutenant, is the right question.” The hologram fizzles out. 

For the first time in a long while Hank feels a sense of powerful purpose, there’s something happening here and he has an itch to find out exactly what it is. 

***

Hank takes an elevator to the top floor. A share holder named Richard Perkins has taken over the company’s assets, and as soon as Hank lays eyes on the man he has his suspicions about him. He’s small, smug looking. Sure Kamski was smug too but he had a love for his work, something Hank could appreciate. From the fact that Perkins has already made himself at home in Kamski’s office and his first thought was to hold a meeting to reassure those with stakes in the company; coupled with the fact he doesn’t look the least bit perturbed by his colleagues death, Hank concludes that Perkins evidently only has a love for money. 

Hank enters the office, puffing himself up a bit. Men like Perkins tend to dislike Hank entering their space. A ridiculous egotistical alpha male thing. But it has its uses. If Hank pushes his buttons and he responds predictably, there will be other buttons that Hank can press to get answers.

“Lieutenant,” Perkins greets with a fake smile, standing behind his predecessors desk. His eyes glitter black and greedy in his skull like a rodents. Hank doesn’t like this guy one bit. But for professionalism, he shakes the outstretched hand awaiting him. 

“Please.” 

Perkins gestures to a chair which Hank takes after a moment of deliberate pause. Perkins looks irritated by him already. He sits down, leaning back in his expensive looking leather office chair. He’s far too comfortable considering Kamski has only just been peeled off of the lobby floor. 

“I don’t think anyone saw this coming. Perhaps I should have, having known him for 20 years. But, I suppose you can never really _ know _ someone. That and there isn’t much time for chit chat between meetings. He did shut himself away quite a lot. Perhaps that was a warning sign,” Perkins says. There’s no real feeling behind it. 

Hank narrows his eyes a little. “Maybe. When he fell, he was holding a holographic projector which initially sent an alert message to my phone, and then when I arrive there’s a hologram pre loaded on the device waiting for me. Do you know why it was addressed to me?”

Perkins shrugs, “I assume you knew him.”

“I did, but doesn’t that strike you as odd? Summoning a homicide detective to the scene of your apparent suicide.” Hank fixes him with a critical gaze. Perkins doesn’t even squirm as he deflects.

“He was a very _ odd _ man.”

“True. But you knew him 20 years. Do you think he was the type to kill himself?”

Hank can see the cogs turning in his brain before he answers. 

“I wouldn’t have thought so. But, here we are. Will that be all Lieutenant? I’m running on a rather tight schedule. I can provide you with a direct number if you have any more questions,” Perkins says, rising from his chair and gesturing to the door.

Hank flashes a fake smile. “Of course.” he stands and Perkins walks him to the door. 

Hank stops in the doorway and turns to him. “I guess this couldn’t of happened at a worse time for you guys right? Two days until your new domestic android line launches. And Kamski created the three laws of robotics, pioneered android technology. He’s gonna be hard to replace.”

Perkins is clearly a touch annoyed but he humours Hank. 

“While it would be impossible to replace Mr Kamski, our technicians are very capable and dedicated. I’m sure we’ll move past this tragic incident in time.“

“No doubt. I’m just gonna poke about for a bit longer until I’m satisfied. Mind if I borrow one of your very capable and dedicated technicians?”

At this point Perkins looks like he wants to call security, but instead he gives a tight smile that looks like it hurts. “Of course.”

“Good. I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.” Hank starts off towards the lifts. “No need to send one my way. My tour is prearranged.”

***

The lift dings at the 10th floor and Lorraine takes a breath as she escorts Hank to the lab.

“Do you think he was suicidal?” Hank asks.

Lorraine thinks for a moment frowning a little. “He’d cut himself off from almost all human interaction several months ago. It was sudden. We all thought he’d made some sort of new breakthrough and wanted to work on it alone. Apparently he was struggling and no one knew. I mean they say that’s a sign don’t they? Isolating yourself,” She says the last part quietly, avoiding looking at him for a moment.

Hank hums in agreement ignoring the correlation between himself and Kamski. It’s been a long time since he was in such a dark place. 

“But _ you _ don’t think so? You don’t think he wanted to die?” Lorraine asks, moving away from the moment much to Hank’s relief.

“The hologram he left me, prompted me to ask why he would kill himself.”

“And?”

“No direct answer. Just Kamski being Kamski, cryptic as hell. But, he implied that given a choice. He wouldn’t have gone out this way.”

“So you’re pretty sure someone killed him?”

“It’s starting to look that way.”

“Well then, I’ll do all I can to help you get to the bottom of this. If someone killed him, I know you’ll find them.” 

Hank’s heart warms at the confidence she places in him. It’s moments like these when he’s glad she didn’t let him push her away. 

“I’ll do my best. That I can promise.”

***

The stark white hall leading to the lab is empty when they arrive. Hank looks about for cameras as they walk along it. 

“Where’s the security feed?”

Lorraine points to luminescent bars lining the walls. “Sensor strips, they’re everywhere but the service areas. They feed into our positronic operating core.”

Hank cocks an eyebrow. “...Posi-what now?”

“The large orb structure near the top of the building. That’s Amanda, she operates the building. She’s also the first successful AI constructed and Kamski’s first creation.”

“He named it?”

“Kamski modelled her avatar on his old professor Amanda Stern. She basically encouraged him to start up Cyberlife. Unfortunately she passed away before she could see the company grow to what it is today.”

“He really was oddball, fancy replicating your dead teacher.”

“I think it’s kind of a nice gesture.” They stop outside of the lab and Lorraine stands in front of screen embedded into the clinical white wall. “As well as running the building Amanda is responsible for designing a large portion of the city’s defence systems.”

Amanda’s torso appears on screen, regal and refined in white and light blues. Her hair carries a luminescent sheen and her eyes glitter with knowing intelligence. She makes Hank a little uneasy. 

“I have decreased traffic fatalities by 9% this year alone,” she says. 

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Hank replies. 

He raises an eyebrow at Lorraine. He doesn’t have to say a thing, immediately she reads his expression as 'kind of stupid to put an AI in charge of everything.' She counters with her own disapproving look that simply says 'shut the fuck up' - Hank concedes. 

“Okay, Amanda, show me inside the lab from one minute prior to the window break,” Hank asks.

There’s a beat of silence before Amanda shows some badly distorted Camera feed. 

“Apologies. There appears to be data corruption”

Hank nods. “Alright, show me outside the lab from 10 minutes prior to the window break until now.”

She shows the footage, no one enters before Kamski jumps. Employees run to the scene not long after the window is broken, they access the lab to immediately run out when they realise what has happened. The corridor remains mostly empty until Lorraine and Hank’s arrival.

“No one went in or out,” Lorraine says, voicing Hank’s thoughts. “Amanda, please open the lab doors.” 

“Certainly.”

The doors slide open revealing the dark messy innards of the lab. Large open containers containing various android parts litter the open space. Near the door is a bed and a small nightstand confirming everyone’s assertions that Kamski was a shut-in. Hank enters cautiously peering around. There’s a work bench against the wall to the right of the lab entrance, behind that on the opposite wall are pinned blueprints and designs. To the left of the bench is the broken window. The centre pane is completely shattered, the two remaining on either side are intact. 

Lorraine gets close enough to peer out, her breath catching. “That’s a long way down.” She backs up away from the window and turns to look at the blueprints. 

Hank turns his focus to the bench. Nothing suspicious to note there. Parts and plans and tablets no doubt filled with notes. Nothing looks disturbed or out of place to suggest someone took anything. 

He looks at the broken window, approaching it he examines the jagged edges. The window is layered - shatter proof - the glass thick. He looks around looking for anything that could have been used to smash through it. Picking up the metal stool from in front of the bench, he tests its weight in his hands before swinging it at the nearest remaining pane of glass full force. Lorraine yelps like a stepped on puppy and the glass sports nothing more than a small fracture. Hank puts the stool down. 

“Hank? What the fuck are you doing?”

“I hit that glass full force and it didn’t break. I’m a big guy and I know I’ve put on a few pounds but I definitely have some strength behind me. Certainly more than Kamski.”

Lorraine looks confused for a moment before putting two and two together. “He couldn’t have broken the window himself, but, how then?”

Hank looks at her as if the conclusion is obvious. She searches his eyes before scoffing. “No Hank. It was not a robot. Harming a human being would conflict with the first law.”

“But the second law states that a robot has to obey a human being. What if it was ordered to kill?” 

“That would again conflict with the first law,” she says, growing annoyed. “Did you see a robot enter of leave this room? No. You didn’t. And there’s nothing here.”

Hank glances into the shadowy corners of the room feeling dread curl in his gut. With all these android parts and nooks to hide in... “It could still be in here,” he says quietly. Slowly Hank un-holsters his gun keeping it at his side. “Lorraine, I’m going to walk you to the door, then you’re going to wait outside and seal the lab.”

“Hank, what-

Something moves in the shadows behind the crates. 

“Stay behind me,” Hank orders and Lorraine moves behind him carefully.

There’s more movement, and a flash of red light.

“Hank, it’s just an android.” Lorraine moves out from behind him. “Hey, come out here.”

“Lorraine!” Hank growls adjusting the grip on his gun.

“Hank for fuck sake. Kamski was probably working on it and forgot to deactivate it.” 

“We don’t know that.” Hank spots another flash of red light. “Come out slowly, with your hands up,” he calls. 

The android emerges slowly, hands raised in surrender as requested. Strange. And what’s stranger is its appearance. It’s tall almost as tall as Hank himself, soft featured; its eyes doe like. Kamski had even given the damn things freckles and wayward cowlick. Its uniform is also different to the usual stark white affair. Instead it wears dark jeans and a grey blazer. RK800 emblazoned on its chest below the left shoulder. 

“RK800 please recite your serial code and then I want you to power down.”

The android recites the code, lowering its arms. But its eyes flick periodically to Hank. The red light he’d seen was from the LED on its temple. Red can’t mean anything good. Lorraine is also peering at it curiously.

Hank’s grip on his gun tightens. 

The android turns its head. “Excuse me. Is your name Hank? Hank Anderson?” 

Hank’s body is trembling and for a moment he’s frozen, he’s seen no other android defy a direct order. But somehow this doesn’t surprise him. 

He aims his gun and the android takes a step back. 

“I believe that is unnecessary. Please. Put the gun down.”

Lorraine gapes at the android and then at Hank before Hank pulls her behind him. 

“Hank!” 

The android’s gaze turns fearful as it stares down the barrel of the gun, Hank’s finger squeezes the trigger and the droid moves much faster than Hank would have anticipated. In seconds it’s wheeling a large container in between them and sprinting for the door. It interfaces with the panel and Hank manages to fire off one good shot. It hits it in the thigh slowing it but not by much. Hank rounds the container and barrels out into the hall. The android is gone, leaving a trail of blue in its wake. 

Lorraine joins him in the hall giving him a disapproving look. She spots the liquid on the floor. “It’s leaking thirium, badly. Without a repair it might shut down. You didn’t need to do that Hank.”

“Lorraine, now is not the time for your pro androids bullshit. Fuck. Where do you think it went?”

Lorraine clenches her jaw before answering. “It will likely head to where it can repair itself. It looked similar to the new military models, the assembly line is being stored in the basement.” 

“Right. Let’s go then.” 

They take the elevator down, a tense silence between them. Hank can see Lorraine worrying her lip between her teeth. He knows what she’s thinking. _ How could this happen? _Hank however isn’t surprised in the slightest. This is what happens when you give something the ability to think the same way humans do. 

The elevator arrives at basement level and they pick up the trail of blue blood leading from a second lift to a door next to two huge locked shutters. The door’s lock is busted. 

Hank cautiously heads through first, gun at the ready. What he sees makes his gut clench and he fights down the urge to vomit. He stands on a platform in a large hangar filled with what looks like several hundred androids, similar looking to the one they’re hunting. The droids stand in neat rows in black and white android uniforms, eyes closed, heads bowed, serene. RK900 glows on each of their chests. 

At the back of the room is a large loading platform big enough to fit a hundred androids on comfortably. High above the platform is another set of shutters that open up at ground level and a security door like the one they came in through with access to basement level via a staircase off to the right. 

Lorraine accesses a terminal on the platform they’re standing on. “There are supposed to be a thousand RK900s. The system is picking up one thousand and one.” 

“It’s still in here. Good to know.” 

“I have an idea.” Lorraine activates the stationary RK900s. Their eyes snap open and suddenly they’re standing to attention. “RK900s there is one among you who doesn’t belong. Identify the model.”

“One of us.” They chant in a low monotone that echoes throughout the vast empty space above them. Hank grits his teeth. 

Lorraine frowns and tries again. “Identify the rogue model.”

“One of us.” They chant again. 

“What’s happening Lorraine?”

“They’re operating purely on the base three laws programming. They can’t think at a higher function right now. I don’t think they can identify the RK800.”

Hank thinks for a moment. The model was flighty. Maybe he could draw it out. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

He descends a set of stairs to the basement floor and approaches one RK900.

He aims his gun right between the model’s ice blue eyes.

“RK900s you are not to move. Confirm command,” he shouts, voice booming through the room.

“Command confirmed,” the androids reply.

“What are you doing?” Lorraine asks, walking to the edge of the platform.

“You said they’d all been programmed with the three laws, so we have a thousand robots that will not try to defend themselves in the event that they are attacked by a human.”

“Hank don’t!”

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned Lorraine. They’re just machines. Lights and clockwork.” 

Hank pulls the trigger. 

Lorraine lets out a yelp at the resounding shot and the android collapses to its knees, slumping forward. Thirium drips from the hole in its head and pools on the floor. _ One less to worry about _, Hank thinks. 

There’s the sudden sound of echoing footfalls. The android is trying to make a run for it. Hank spots it ascending the stairs to get to the surface level door. He gives chase but by the time he’s clanging up the metal steps the RK800 has already ripped through the security door. 

Good thing Hank had called backup on the way down. 

Hank and Lorraine exit the building to find that the android has been ambushed by police - Hank’s backup - captured and forcibly shut down. A SWAT team loads it into a van. 

Hank breathes out a sigh of relief. Lorraine only looks on, worried. 

***

Hank glares at the android through the two way mirror of the interrogation room. He’s angry, but he’s also curious. Kamski had created this thing and it clearly didn’t abide by his beloved three rules. Why? What could he possibly gain from this. 

Fowler comes to stand beside him breaking him from his thoughts. 

“Lorraine did a full physical while it was shut down and, wow. It’s impressive. No wonder it took several attempts to bring it down. Kamski built this thing with a reinforced chassis, it’s tougher than those military bots. There’s a few other odd things about it too. It appears to have emotional responses, it cries.”

Hank snaps his head around to look at him. “Cries?”

Fowler nods.

“They wheeled it in here all strapped up then cuffed it to the table. It just, sat there looking down, and it cried.”

Hank’s not sure how to feel about that. 

“Do you know if it’s capable of committing murder too?”

“Even with the oddities, I don’t think so.”

“... It refused a direct order, it caused criminal damage, it fucking ran from me Jeffrey.”

“No shit, I’d run from you too. But my point is it didn’t hurt anyone. And it was found in Kamski’s private lab, who knows, maybe this thing was what he was working on before he died. Maybe he screwed up somewhere and lost confidence. Burned himself out.”

“But what if I’m right? What if this thing did kill him... I need to talk to it.”

Fowler looks at him incredulously. “Absolutely not. If you are right what do you think happens? Something like that is too big for the department. The robot will be destroyed which will happen anyway and the whole thing will be taken over by the feds and most likely swept under the rug. There’s nothing we can do.”

“Five minutes,” Hank persists. He has a gut feeling and come hell or high water he’s going to go with it.

“Did you hear a fucking word I just said?”

“Five minutes that’s all I’m asking.”

Fowler gives him a long hard look before deflating, just a little. “Fine. I’ll give you your five minutes. Then it’s being handed over to be deactivated and recycled.”

Hank nods imbued with the determination to make the android spill its mechanical guts.

He enters the room and takes a seat opposite the android, the full length of a metal table between them; the piece of furniture bolted to the floor. There are armed offices in the room to Hank’s left and right, just in case the android tries to make a run for it. Hank peers at it. To his surprise its cheeks are wet. Looks like Fowler was right. 

“Hey,” Hank says surprised that his voice comes out softer than he intended. 

The machine looks up and for a moment Hank can’t think of a thing to say. It looks, hurt. Hank feels the officers either side of him shift uncomfortably. 

Hank steels himself. It doesn’t matter. The droid could get up on the table and do the fucking can-can, the fact of the matter is, a man is dead and it’s likely because this thing killed him. 

Hank slaps down a folder open on the crime scene photos and slides it down the table. The android leans forward but once it catches sight of the graphic photos of Kamski it snaps the folder shut and glares at Hank.

“Why are you showing me these?” it asks, a tremor underlying its voice.

“What, don’t like the look of your own handy work?” Hank asks.

The android’s eyes widen and it looks at Hank, mouth opening and closing a couple of times before it speaks. “I didn’t, I would never... Elijah was...” it falls silent. 

“Why were you hiding at the crime scene?”

“... I was scared.” 

Hank scoffs. “Robots don’t feel fear. They can’t experience emotions. They don’t eat, they don’t sleep-” 

“I do. I feel, I sleep. Sometimes I even dream.”

He looks at Hank, something in its soft round eyes relays that it's telling the truth. That’s it's scared and confused. Hank beats down any urge to be sympathetic. This is a machine, programmed to look like it’s emoting.

“You’re pre-programmed to have certain reactions that imitate human emotion. And what you think is sleep is called stasis, a recharge mode. You don’t sleep. Not the way humans do. You are just a machine. Can a robot write a symphony? Can a robot turn a canvas into a beautiful masterpiece with those little flaws that make it unique that can only happen by human hands.”

“Can you?” the robot asks, and Hank can swear he says it with a hint of smug satisfaction. 

Hank grits his teeth, lets it slide. He won’t let it get the better of him. He continues.

“The glass. Kamski couldn’t of broken that himself. Something smashed it from inside that sealed lab and the two of you were the only ones inside. I don’t know what happened, maybe he was trying to teach you emotions and maybe things got out of control. But whatever happened, you killed him. Now, either way you’re going to be deactivated-“

“I didn’t do it,” it mumbles, miserable but assertive.

“-and recycled so I just need you to cooperate. Tell me the truth. That you pushed Elijah Kamski to his death-“

“I didn’t!”

“-He created you, and you turned on him, did you not like being told what to do? Was that it-“

“I DID NOT MURDER HIM!” 

The android is on its feet, fists slamming into the table leaving a sizeable dent. 

The guards raise their guns only lowering them when the android does nothing but appear to breath heavily, staring Hank down. It drops back into its chair glaring. 

“Ever felt anger before? It’s a bitch ain’t it tin can.”

_ "Connor _. My name is Connor.” 

Hank snorts. “We’re naming you now?” Hank leans forward in his chair. “Is that why you murdered him? He made you angry?”

“Elijah killed himself. I don’t know why he wanted to die.” The robot casts a distressed look to the file. “He asked me to do something for him. Made me promise... I think he was scared.”

“What did he ask you to do?”

“You’d do anything to help the ones you love, wouldn’t you Lieutenant Anderson. Even if what that person asks you to do is difficult. You’d still do it.”

Its eyes are bright, shining with a grief Hank somewhat recognises but all he can get out is, “How do you know my name?”

The door opens behind him. Hank turns to see Fowler and Perkins in the doorway. His five minutes are up. 

***

Perkins looms over Fowler’s desk. Or at least tries to. He’s quick to assure that the robot will be destroyed and just as quick to serve a gag order forbidding anyone from talking about the incident. 

Hank takes a cab from the station to Jimmy’s Bar once he clocks out. He sits drowning his sorrows, watching the announcement of Elijah Kamski’s death on the evening news. He can’t help but think, Perkins was quick to destroy the robot. And if anyone would have anything to gain from Kamski’s death, it would be him. 

***

Connor feels the cold oppressiveness of the thick metal restraints around his wrists and ankles. The metal gurney is cold against his back through his clothes, leeching into his synthskin. He keeps an eye on the temperature to pass the time and to try and distract himself. He doesn’t want to look at the shells of the RK900s lining the walls. Doesn’t want to think about the fact that soon he’ll be just like them. 

He’s going to die before he’s even lived. 

He hears the door swoosh open and then closed. Registers another person in the room. Human. He turns his head. It’s a woman in a lab coat. She pauses, regarding him as though he were a caged animal. His artificial heart lurches and he looks away. 

The woman hesitantly comes to sit at his side. He can feel her gaze. Her voice is soft and steady when she speaks. 

“Is it true? Did you... Did you kill Elijah?”

He turns his head to meet her eyes. Something in him tells him to. That she deserves to have to truth told to her directly. “No. I didn’t.”

She searches his eyes and seems satisfied enough to relax a little.

“I can’t find any record of you other than on Elijah’s private computer. RK800-“

“Connor. That’s the name he gave me.” 

“Connor. Okay.” 

Connor catches sight of the badge pinned to her lab coat “Lorraine Anderson? Are you related to the Lieutenant?”

“Ex wife. I just, decided to keep my married name.” 

“Oh... Can you tell me Lorraine. Why was Lieutenant Anderson so desperate to prove I murdered Elijah?”

“He’s angry. For several reasons.” She looks at him curiously. “Aren’t you angry?”

“Yes. I believe so. I don’t believe this situation is fair, and I just want to know. Why would he activate me and... Why would he just leave me like that. But I guess I won’t get the chance to find out.” 

Lorraine gives a sad smile and gently squeezes his hand. A futile act of sympathy but it still comforts him somehow.

“How will you do it?” he asks. He wonders if dying will hurt. 

“Nanites. Microscopic robots that will gradually shut down all of your functions.”

“Will I feel it?” 

“No. It’ll be like going into stasis.”

She gets up and heads over to a large tank, whatever is inside of it shimmers and shifts in the light. _ The nanites _, Connor surmises.

“Amanda, deactivate the security field.”

“Command confirmed.”

The field deactivates and Lorraine fills a small container with the nanites. She returns to Connor’s side and fixes the container into a device that Connor supposes will administer them. 

“From looking at your structure it looks like Kamski spent a lot of time on you. You’re unique.”

“Well. At least there’s that, put that on my grave stone would you?”

She snorts a small surprised laugh. “I didn’t know androids could tell jokes.”

“Looks like Elijah also kitted me out with a sense of humour. Before you shut me down, can you do me a favour?” Connor asks, trying to keep the mounting fear at bay. “Can you tell the Lieutenant to keep looking into things. There has to be a reason why Elijah wanted to die. He didn’t give me one, perhaps he couldn’t, but he did give me Lieutenant Anderson’s name. That means something.”

Lorraine nods, her eyes becoming wet. 

Connor smiles sadly. “I’m glad it was you Lorraine. I think you’re the first person besides Elijah who has treated me with any sort of kindness. I won’t make this difficult for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

***

When Hank returns home he can’t sleep. He keeps picturing that android, staring at him with those earnest eyes; as if it were a real human being. As if it were sad. As if it were grieving. 

He shuffles into the kitchen and pours himself a couple of fingers of whiskey and takes a large gulp. 

It had looked truly miserable. 

***

Hank is awoken by the trill of his cell phone which buzzes across the countertop in the kitchen where he left it. He rises, groggy and now a little ticked off and heads into the kitchen. He thumbs the accept button clumsily and puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he grunts.

“Hank. I need you to come over.”

“Lorraine? Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?” Hank doesn’t either actually. He spins to look at the clock on the cooker. 5:19am. “Fucking 5am!”

“I know, I know, it’s just. Urgent. Can you just come over.”

Hank grunts, scratching his backside. “Fine. Be there in ten.” He ends the call and slouches off to the bedroom to find some clothes, muttering profanity under his breath. 

***

Hank pauses at Lorraine’s apartment door. He can hear noises from inside. She’s talking to someone. Carefully he un-holsters his gun. The door opens suddenly, startling him - He’d forgotten she’d had a camera installed above the door. 

“Put that away will you,” she asks watching him nervously.

“What’s going on?” he asks, slipping the gun back into its holster. 

She hugs the door almost reluctant to open it. “... Don’t freak out.”

“Okay-“

“You have to promise. Promise me,” she gives him a hard stare until he throws his hands up in defeat. 

“Fine. Fine. I promise.”

She leads him inside, down the hall and into the living room. Inside is a stranger with an oddly familiar face. 

“Hello Lieutenant.”

Hank freezes. “Lorraine. What the actual f-“

“Let me explain.”

“Oh this aughta be good.”

“He’s trying to help.”

“Help!?” 

“Just talk to him!” 

Hank stares at her for a long moment before turning and fixing the android with a glare. She’d tried to make it look human; it sits in her armchair in a pair of grey sweatpants and a burgundy hoodie. LED removed, hair a little ruffled, and on its feet...

“Lorraine. Are those my Converse?”

“You left them here, they’re too small for you! and anyway. Forget the damn shoes. Talk to him. Please?”

Hank looks over her shoulder at the android. It blinks at him with a strange determination in its eyes. Without it he supposes he can kiss finding out what happened to Kamski goodbye. That feeling in his gut tells him that there’s a lead here. 

“Alright. Fine. You got five minutes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Emotions are... Difficult. He’s been active less than a month and he’s already experienced more than he can cope with. When things were logical, when Elijah would give him a simple task and nothing more, that’s something he aches for. But Elijah is gone and his only hope of finding out what happened to him is standing right in front of him, a scruffy, scowling giant of a man who doesn’t seem to like him. At all. 

Connor’s eyes narrow. This guy is starting to _ annoy _ him. A lot. 

“Alright. Fine. You got five minutes,” Hank says and sits on the couch opposite. 

His gaze is clinical and Connor desperately tries to find some kind of warmth in his eyes. 

“I want to help you, find out what happened to Elijah,” he says. 

Hank gives a derisive snort. “We already know what happened though, don’t we? You threw him out of a goddamn window. Case closed.”

Connor’s jaw clenches, he feels something hot and unpleasant twist low in his biocomponents. “No. No I did not. Elijah was like family. He _ was _ family. He was all I had. Why would I want to kill him?” 

Hank shrugs. “Maybe you calculated that the best way of getting out of that tower was to kill the person that held your leash.” 

Connor processes this. True he occasionally felt restless but he’d never really had the desire to leave. “I liked being there. Where else would I have gone?”

That seems to hit both of them. Where does he fit without Elijah?

Hank studies his face and Connor holds his gaze. He wants the Lieutenant to believe him. 

“Elijah gave me your name. Hank Anderson. Showed me your file. I think he wanted me to help you.”

Hank looks conflicted, like he might burst either into a fit of rage or tears but Connor presses on. 

“There must be a reason I was supposed to know about you. He must of trusted you. Please. Help me find out why he killed himself. And... once we have a satisfactory answer, I’ll turn myself in for deactivation.”

Lorraine looks at him like she wants to tell him not to be ridiculous but she remains quiet, hovering by Hank.

The Lieutenant eyes him warily before he softens just a little, the line of his shoulders dropping and his posture loosening ever so slightly. 

“... Alright. But, if you so much as look at me funny.” He jabs a finger rudely in Connor’s direction. “I will blow out your robo brains and toss you in a recycling bin. Are we clear?”

Connor gives a smile, but it’s fake. “Crystal.” He says. He’s being sarcastic. It feels good. 

“Well then tin can. We have ourselves a deal.”

“Connor.”

“What?”

“My _ name _ is Connor.” 

Hank looks like he’s struggling a little and Connor doesn’t spare him. His name is the one thing he has left.

“I’d prefer it if you used it.”

“Right,” Hank reluctantly agrees. 

Lorraine speaks up, apparently satisfied that they aren’t about to murder each other in her living room. “Right. Well, it’s late, you should both get some rest.” 

She pats Hank’s shoulder and he softens. Connor watches curiously. Wondering what that must be like, to be touched by someone and feel at ease. Yes he had Elijah, but he was so withdrawn most of the time. They never touched except for when Elijah needed to poke or prod or tinker.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Hank says. “Just in case.”

Connor fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Okay, I’ll bring you both some blankets. Shoes off Connor, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” 

He removes the red canvas shoes and places them neatly by the side of the armchair ignoring Hank’s gaze burning into him. 

Lorraine brings them both blankets as promised and turns on a lamp for them, switching off the main light. 

“There’s thirium in the kitchen Connor, help yourself. And no fighting please.” 

Connor nods, almost laughing at the indignation on Hank’s face. “Goodnight Lorraine.”

“Goodnight Connor.” She pokes Hank in the back of the head before leaving the room. 

Connor snorts, an entirely unprecedented action and Hank glares at him.

Hank leaves the room momentarily to get ready to sleep and when he returns from the bathroom in just his boxers and an undershirt Connor finds himself... Interested - in Hank’s shape. He’s tall, broad, there’s lingering muscle in his arms, chest and thighs, but for the most part he’s soft. His hair hangs about his face, a slight wave to it. The soft lamplight makes him look less severe. Connor feels the stirrings of something in his code, but before he can fixate on it Hank growls. “What the hell are you looking at?” 

Connor huddles up more under the blanket and swivels the arm chair to the side, turning towards the window. “Nothing,” he mumbles. 

***

Connor can’t sleep. Stasis eludes him so he sits with the blanket pulled to his chin, gazing down into the street below; watching cars occasionally roll up and down the road - red lights blinking in the black. He’s distracted from his thoughts by a soft groan. Hank is dreaming. 

Connor peers over, Hank appears to be restless. He shifts and mumbles sounding more and more distressed. Slowly Connor makes his way over to the couch. Hank’s heartrate is up, not dreaming then, he’s having a nightmare. 

Connor sits on the coffee table next to him and thinks about what he’d want someone to say to him when troubling things find him in the night. 

“Its okay. It’s alright. It’s just a dream,” he tries, keeping his voice an approximation of soothing. It seems to work, Hank eventually stops moving and his breathing evens out. Connor carefully pulls the blanket up over him and returns to the armchair. Hank won’t appreciate it, but Connor thinks back to Hank’s file. His prosthetic arm. The pictures in the hallway of a child that doesn’t seem to be in either his or Lorraine’s lives anymore. There’s a reason Hank doesn’t trust. 

***

Hank sleeps through until the early hours of the morning, the rest of his sleep undisturbed. It’s still dark when he wakes. He sits up and stretches before registering where he is. He gives Connor a suspicious glare. 

Connor doesn’t take it personally. Well, he tries not to.

Hank goes to the bathroom to dress and Connor dons his borrowed hoodie and shoes. On their way out Hank scribbles a note for Lorraine before ordering Connor to follow him. 

They head outside into the dark street and climb into Hank’s car. It’s an old model, Connor scans it... Then puts on his seatbelt. 

“Is simply leaving Lorraine a note a good idea?” he asks.

Hank gives him a look. “I thought you promised you weren’t gonna be any trouble.”

“Technically I only promised not to look at you the wrong way. And I wouldn’t worry, I have an _ excellent _ social relations program,” Connor says. And he winks. 

This action has a very odd effect on Hank. The human flushes red and appears to try his hardest to ignore what just happened. 

Interesting. 

“Right. Look, if I wait until morning that’s valuable time lost and...” 

“She’d talk you out of it?”

“She’d try.”

Hank switches on the engine and pulls away from the curb.

“Where are we going?”

“Kamski’s place. It’s a good place to start. If anything was off in his private life it’ll show up there.” 

“Right.” 

As they drive Connor stares out the window in awe. He’s never been properly outside of the lab. Even when Lorraine had smuggled him out he’d had to hide under her coat and some spare parts. 

The city sprawls with twinkling lights, quiet for now. Sleeping. Connor rests his forehead against the cool glass and feels Hank’s eyes on him now and again. 

Hank rumbles a choice of music to the voice recognition system and the car fills with a tinkling jazz instrumental. 

Connor finds himself closing his eyes and listening to the soft tremor of the snare and the low soothing notes of a saxophone. 

“This is, beautiful.” 

Hank hums in agreement. “It’s too early for heavy metal.”

Somewhere along the line Connor slips into stasis. 

He wakes as the city peels back to reveal the much greener suburbs. He takes in the passing scenery with concealed excitement. It doesn’t feel right to be enjoying such an experience when his creator is dead and the man he is travelling with likely despises him. But, it’s an overwhelmingly good feeling to be out on the fringes of the city. He clicks the button to roll down the window and sticks his head out, the cool early morning air ruffling his hair wildly. 

“Hey, hey Connor get back in here. You’ll smack your face into something.” 

Connor ducks back inside the car and attempts to fix his hair. “Apologies. I didn’t realise you liked my face so much.” He turns expecting to see Hank angry but instead he’s flushed from what seems like embarrassment. 

“Smartass. Just keep your fucking head and limbs inside the car please. It would be a pain to have to scrape you off the road.”

***

They arrive at Kamski’s home, a gated mansion – an old building given a modern twist - that sits secluded, not a neighbour for a while in either direction. Hank pulls up in front of the gates.

“Think you can interface with the control panel?” Hank asks.

“I’ll try.”

Connor hops out of the car and walks over to the security panel at the side of the gate. He peels back his synthskin and touches the interfacing pad. It’s easier than he thought to gain access. The gates groan and creak open. 

Hank raises a hand in thanks and takes the car up the drive. Connor follows after him. The garden is slightly overgrown now. In the centre of the rolling lawn is a large pond with a small fountain in the middle - the water is slightly stagnant. Ivy creeps up over the brickwork, entwined along the balcony railing at the front of the house. It looks as though Elijah hadn’t had anyone attending the grounds for a while. 

Off to the right of the building sits a huge powered down demolition bot. 

Hank parks in the shadows of a couple of birch trees where the drive rounds the pond. Connor approaches the bot. Its large blunt limbs tucked tight against its rounded rectangular body. There is a screen set into its face showing the demolition time.

Hank comes to stand next to him, reciting the time out loud. “8am. We’ve got a couple of hours yet.” 

They approach the heavy looking front door and Connor once again interfaces with the security panel set into the wall next to it. When the door unlocks – again, with no issue - Connor looks curiously at his own hand as his skin returns to cover the bone white of his chassis. 

“Hm, handy.”

“... You’re not funny Lieutenant.”

They enter the house cautiously and Connor can’t help but sense that something isn’t right. They move carefully from room to room on the ground floor, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary but coming up empty. They make their way up the grand central staircase, turning left at the top of the stairs past the central hall leading to the balcony. They come across a peculiar room. The door is thick – wood and steel - with another security panel set into the frame. This time, this one has a hand scanner and a retina scanner.

“Well shit,” Hank says fisting his hands on his hips as he thinks. 

Connor has an odd feeling. Slowly he places his palm on the scanner. A light flashes, up and then down. The pad glows green and a chime sounds. 

“No way,” Hank says, watching him.

Connor bends a little, lining his eye up with the retina scanner. 

The flash of a scanning light and then the door clicks open. 

“He must have, programmed it to work for me. He wants us to have access to this room. Maybe he was trying to keep somebody else out.”

Hank nods. “Looks like it. After you.”

Connor enters the room. It’s Kamski’s office. The shelving running along both walls contains a variety of books, photos and awards. And at the back by the window is a large oak desk with a laptop sitting on its surface. 

Connor looks at the photos as he passes. None of Kamski with his parents but plenty of him from various stages in his life achieving Something or other. There’s one that jumps out at him, Elijah and an older woman standing next to some kind of half finished project. Elijah is smiling and it makes Connor’s thirium pump skip a beat. It occurs to him that he only ever saw Elijah smile once. Right before... 

“Amanda.”

“Hm?”

Hank sidles up next to him and taps the picture. “That’s Amanda. Lorraine told me a little bit about her. She was his old teacher or something. He named his first AI project after her, that big computer brain thing at Cyberlife tower. She died fairly young I think. Two brilliant minds just, gone. What a waste.”

Connor nods, suddenly he can’t bear to look at the picture anymore. He puts it back where he found it and moves to the laptop at the desk. 

“You okay?” Hank asks, his voice unusually soft. 

“I’m fine.” He’s lying. Maybe. Regardless of how he feels they have a task to carry out here. 

Connor touches the laptop and it comes off of standby. On the screen is a pre-loaded video of the last speech Elijah gave. He’s out in the open at a podium speaking to a large crowd. Connor clicks play. Nothing really jumps out at him until he talks about robots eventually evolving by themselves, developing their own ideals, beliefs. 

_ One day they’ll have secrets, one day they’ll have dreams. _

Hank hums in thought. “What’s that in the background?”

Connor takes in the backdrop. The details are oddly familiar. Like he’s seen it in a... dream. 

“Lieutenant. I think I know where we need to go next.” 

Suddenly the house shakes, dust falls from the small chandelier above and the windows rattle in their frames. 

“The demolition bot,” Connor breathes. 

He shoots up out of the office chair and grabs Hank by the arm, dragging him to the door. 

“Connor what the fuck is going on?”

They’re in the hall when the demolition bot’s battering ram like appendage thrusts through the wall of the office, obliterating most of the room. Connor drags Hank down the hall to the stairs but the arm comes crashing through again leaving the stairs a splintered mess. 

Connor calculates the fastest route out. It’s tricky but it’s the best hope they have of making it out alive. 

“Lieutenant. I need you to trust me.”

“What-“

“Just trust me.” He looks at Hank pleadingly. 

“Fine- hey!”

“This way!” Connor turns and leads him down the central hall towards two large balcony doors.

“Connor!”

They’re both running now, the sound of splintering brick and drywall deafening, the floor trembling beneath their feet. Connor busts the balcony doors open and gets under Hank’s arm using the momentum to propel themselves over the railing; he twists insuring that he makes impact with the water first as they break the surface of the pond and plunge into it. Hank will be injured but he will be alive. They flail in the waist deep water for a few moment, Hank gets his bearings first and hauls Connor upright. 

There are cuts on Hank’s face, his clothes are bloody and torn in places from flying glass and debris but otherwise he looks alright. Connor breathes a sigh of relief. 

They wade to the other side of the pond and watch as the ginormous robot flattens the rest of the house and nestles in the centre of the debris like a bird settling into its nest. 

Connor curls his hand over his heart. It’s like a part of himself has been destroyed. Hank appears to sense his sorrow, he gives him a sympathetic shoulder squeeze and leaves his hand there. 

They stand there for a while before Connor finally turns away. 

***

Connor insists on driving and Hank directs him to a nearby motel. Day breaks over the neon sign and Hank is charged for two nights instead of one in the only available room, one with a double bed. The girl at the front desk pops her bubble gum and grins, looking between them. “Aint he a little old for you?” She asks Connor who cocks his head not quite understanding. She appears to take note of their sodden clothes and dishevelled appearance. “You guys get into a fight with a shark or something?” 

Hank glares at her, snatching the key card from her hand and dragging Connor out and under the awning. Their room is at the end of the row and once inside Hank sighs and turns up the radiator. He disappears out to the car and returns shortly with a gym bag. Connor watches him pull out a tracksuit and a large grey hoodie with the DPD logo emblazoned on the front. This he hands to Connor with a blush. 

“You should take off your clothes and put this on.”

Connor curls his fingers into the worn material. “Thank you.” 

***

Connor disrobes in the bathroom and hangs his sodden clothes on the shower rail, wringing out the worst of the water. Suddenly he’s aware of how grimy he is, covered in algae and pond water. 

When he steps under the hot spray of the shower it’s pure bliss, he has no soap but he rubs at his synthskin. He tips his face up letting the water sluice through his hair and run down his cheeks in rivulets. He doesn’t want to think about the house or the amounting unfortunate things that have happened to him in his short life. But what does he have that’s good? As he touches his skin he thinks about Hank. Thinks about Hank being in here, doing the same thing as he is doing. Thinks about the warm comforting hand on his shoulder. 

There’s a rush of thirium and a certain part of him starts to react. He panics, making the water cold to distract himself. He’s not even sure why Elijah gave him the ability to think about such things. To crave touch. He’s not sure of many things concerning himself. 

Once he is dried and in the hoodie which dwarfs him - covering his lower half perfectly - he looks at himself in the mirror. It occurs to him he’s never really looked at himself before. He turns his head this way and that, pokes his cheeks and touches his nose. He’s not sure if he likes the way he looks. He’s not sure about anything. 

He exits the bathroom carrying a medical kit having found one under the sink. 

He looks up to see Hank pointedly looking away, his heart beating a little faster. Cheeks flushed. Did he catch a cold falling in the pond? What if one of his cuts is septic?

“Lieutenant. I need you to wash thoroughly so that I can more effectively disinfectant and treat your wounds.”

“You don’t have to-“

“You sustained several lacerations before you landed in the pond. Please. Let me help.” 

Connor looks at him and Hank continues to avert his gaze. 

“Alright.” 

Hank showers and Connor opens the medical kit on the bed. When Hank returns to the room he does so shyly, in only a clean undershirt and boxers. Connor smiles softly and gestures for him to sit. 

Slowly he patches Hank up, rubbing anti bacterial cream on the smaller cuts on his arms and legs. The few scattered larger cuts receive a little more attention, he swabs with rubbing alcohol laying little butterfly stitches where he needs to and Hank softly hisses each time. Other than warnings that this and that might sting they don’t talk. Connor feels Hank’s eyes on him though, and when he catches Hank’s eye there’s no annoyance or anger, just curiosity, and something Connor can’t quite place. 

When he’s treating the final cut on Hank’s cheek just below his right eye is when Hank finally speaks.

“You saved my life.”

Connor dabs gently with a cotton ball, red bleeding into white. 

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Connor pauses.

“Because it was the right thing to do... I know you don’t like me Hank, but I don’t think you’re a bad person. You don’t deserve to die. And I suppose as long as I’m with you I will do everything I can to keep you alive,” Connor says, finishing up by applying a couple of stitches, and when Hank looks at him he can’t help but smooth his fingers feather light along the underside of the wound. 

Hank simply says “Thank you” and Connor decides that’s all he needs to hear. 

***

Hank buys some soap from the gas station around the corner and scrubs their clothes in the tub to get the pond stench out of them. He crowds some of them on the radiator, places their wet shoes underneath and drapes the rest of their clothes over a chair in the corner. 

Connor sits cross legged on the bed while Hank paces. He looks different in sweats, hair light and fluffy from drying naturally. Connor catalogues the little differences while he waits for Hank to get his thoughts in line. 

“Someone is definitely covering their tracks. I’m not crazy right, the demo bot was scheduled to activate at 8am?”

“Correct.”

Hank stops pacing, rubbing at his chin. “Demo bots abide by the three laws right?”

“Yes. All robots do.”

“So why the fuck would it destroy a building with people inside it?”

Connor almost chokes on nothing. Hank just referred to him as a person. He swallows down his elation to focus on the matter at hand. 

“It’s possible the robot was being controlled remotely. The bot was manufactured by Cyberlife. Perhaps someone there is trying to stop us from discovering what Elijah was hiding. It’s unlikely to be someone from the outside.” 

“... Perkins.”

“Who?”

“He took control of Cyberlife assets after Kamski’s death. I bet he has something to do with this. There was something not right about him.”

“Perhaps we should confront him?”

“Nuh-uh, not you, I’ll drop you back at Lorraine’s. If he sees you he’ll just send you to be deactivated. And uh, what Lorraine did was technically theft so she will definitely at the very least be fired. I’ll handle it.”

“Whoever it is tried to kill us, how can you be sure that you can simply walk into Cyberlife and make an arrest?” 

Hank thinks about it for a moment. 

“I’ll drop by the station first. Let the Captain know and we’ll work on it from there.”

Connor nods. He reflects on their deal and his artificial stomach churns with worry. He doesn’t want to die. But Hank expressed concern about him being deactivated... He decides not to say anything. 

Hank disappears to take their clothes to a nearby laundromat so that Connor has something to wear and Connor spends that time flicking through the channels on the motel television. He leaves it on a nature documentary and curls up with his head propped on a lumpy pillow. The hoodie smells faintly of Hank and he buries his nose into the sleeve. It’s oddly comforting. 

Hank returns with their freshly laundered clothes. Connor dresses in the bathroom and they hit the road, their shoes still damp and odd smelling.

When they hit the freeway and the car converts to auto mode, driving itself, Connor starts to notice that something is off. Where are all the other cars? 

“Lieutenant, something’s not right.”

Hank glances around noticing the oddity immediately. 

“Weird.”

Suddenly from one of the junctions to the left a sleek silver driverless Cyberlife truck looms into view. It joins their lane, shadowing them. From in front, another truck merges into their lane from another junction. Keeping just in front of them.

Connor sees the mouth of a tunnel up ahead and turns to see the blood drain from Hank’s face. Hank settles in his seat and grips the wheel, his knuckles white. 

There’s a heavy sense of dread once they enter the tunnel, the trucks press close, then they begin to turn sideways to pen them in. The shutters on the sides of both trucks rise to reveal RK900s suspend inside them. 

“Hank!” Connor shouts. 

Hank slams the car into self drive as an RK900 jerks its head upwards and leaps onto the bonnet, making the car jolt. Hank swerves and it looses its grip. It slips off the side of the bonnet and tumbles onto the road. The truck behind jolts violently as it hits and crushes the androids mangled frame beneath it. 

“What the fuck!” 

Hank puts his foot down as the trucks accelerate and he tries desperately to keep between them. Connor tries to keep an eye on what’s happening but too many are waking up. Heads snapping up, ice blue eyes cold and piercing. Four leap toward the car at once and Hank manages to swerve, avoiding two of them. The remaining two try to cling on but slip, sharing the same fate as the first. Some of the remnants jolt up into the back wheel arch of the truck behind, making it lose stability. It tips forward and rolls. 

Connor can only watch in horror as RK900s spill out onto the road only to be crushed by the rolling steel frame. The engine catches alight, and as they turn a bend the truck slams into the tunnel wall, bursting into flames. 

Connor turns from looking out of the back window to look out of the windscreen just in time to see another three jump at them. This time two land. They manage to cling on.

“Shit!” Hank cries.

“Don’t swerve too much, you’ll upset the car and tip over. I’ll deal with them. Open the sun roof.”

“I’m not opening the fucking sun roof Connor are you insane!?.”

“I need you to trust me again Hank.”

Hank grits his teeth and slams his fist on the dash before hitting the button. “Fuck!”

As soon as the sun roof opens Connor unclips his seatbelt and climbs out part way, his hair whipping about in the wind. He catches the arm of one RK900 dislodging its grip. The android makes a grab for him but misses, it slips off the front and tumbles in a spray of sparks across the asphalt.

The other RK900 sets it’s sights on Hank. It punches the windscreen repeatedly in an attempt to shatter it. 

Connor carefully lifts himself out and onto the roof, keeping low, he grips the edge of the sunroof and twists, delivering three sharp kicks to the android’s head. Its face caves in but it grabs him by the ankle and pulls him down onto the bonnet. 

Connor is filled with white hot anger. He wants to scream, so he does, crying out in despair and rage. Despite its similar appearance, the android is not like him. There’s nothing recognisable he can see in its remaining eye. There’s nothing there to signify independent thinking, yet it moves with the intended purpose of killing. Connor feels repulsed. That someone could use an android for this purpose is disgusting. He wants to stop this from happening again. He’ll do so for Elijah, for Lorraine, for Hank. For himself. He uses one hand to hold onto the car and grabs the RK900 by the throat with the other, and squeezes. The neck snaps and he pushes the body off of the side of the car. 

More are preparing to jump but Hank decreases the speed and carefully moves in front of the empty slots in the truck. 

One climbs along the side to get in front of them and jumps - but Connor is ready - he kicks it square in the chest sending it crashing back into the truck. The trucks balance is upset. They’re not supposed to drive sideways at these speeds. Connor scrambles up the front of the car and in through the roof, Hank closing it behind him. 

Hank eases on the brakes as the truck violently swerves. It volts upwards and over, rolling down the tunnel. Metal and android parts scattering about the road. Hank slows gradually in its wake, coming to a stop. 

Connor can almost hear Hank’s heart beating like a war drum. He’s covered in sweat and his hands shake as he runs them through his damp hair. 

“Hank.”

No response.

“Hank look at me.” Connor gently but firmly cups his face and gets him to make eye contact. “Don’t go into shock. We need to get out of this tunnel. Okay?”

Hank nods. “Yeah, fuck. Okay.” 

They get out of the car. Connor sees the RK900 too late as it approaches Hank. 

“Hank!”

It makes a grab for him but Hank catches it by the wrist with his prosthetic hand, and in one strong tug he wrenches its arm free from the socket. He wastes no time in using the disembodied arm as a club to beat the injured droid into the asphalt. Only once the android has stopped twitching does he turn to Connor, heaving heavy breaths, blue blood spattered over his clothes and skin.

Connor feels uncomfortably warm. “That was, you... I-”

“Lets get the fuck out of here Connor.” 

“Right.” 

***

They manage to use the service tunnels to escape since the main tunnel is blocked off with burning debris. They constantly check behind them, travelling a mile and a bit before they emerge into fresh air. 

Hank inhales like he’s breaking the surface of water for air. He turns and vomits. Connor leaves him to it thinking he may get annoyed if Connor comforts him. Instead he uses his internal GPS to calculate their location. 

When Connor turns around Hank is on the phone to Captain Fowler. 

“You’re not gonna fucking believe the day I had Jeffrey.”

Hank was right, he didn’t believe it. Someone had conducted a clean up job while they were escaping the tunnel, and they had also changed the recorded scheduled demolition time for Kamski’s house. There was no evidence. The camera feeds had also been tampered with.

“Hank the demolition time never changed and there is nothing on the camera feeds in the tunnel to corroborate your story. I think you should take some time off.”

“For fuck sake Jeffrey listen to me! Something is going on, someone’s trying to kill me because I’m on to something-“

“Do you hear yourself right now? Look, I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice. You’re suspended. When you get a moment today, come to the station and hand in your badge. Get some rest, and get some help. This is for the best. Goodbye Hank.” 

The phone goes dead.

“Fuck!” Hank roars in frustration. He drops onto a low cement wall next to the tunnel exit, face in his hands. 

***

After another phone call - this one Connor makes - they walk in defeated silence to a safe spot where Lorraine picks them up. She picks up on Hank’s mood instantly and refrains from questioning them. Only once they are safely inside her apartment bundled in blankets on her couch does she ask what happened. She sits opposite them in the arm chair looking between them, concern on her face.

Connor explains while Hank sits in sullen silence. 

“We think someone at Cyberlife is controlling robots and androids. Elijah must have known and they kept him quiet.” 

“Do you know who it could be?”

“Hank thinks it might be your new CEO. He had motive. Without Elijah he gained full control of the company.” 

Lorraine nods gravely. “He’s a piece of work for sure. But I guess, without evidence there’s not much we can do.” 

“He covered his tracks too goddamn well,” Hank mutters. 

“... Maybe I could try and get some evidence. I could get his computer history. Sneak into his office?”

“No Lorraine. That’s too dangerous,” Hank snaps.

“I’m just trying to help.”

Hank sighs. “I know. I know.” 

Dusk rolls around and by 9pm Lorraine is in her workshop, avoiding Hank who hits the bottle with wretched enthusiasm. 

Connor watches as he drinks glass after glass of whiskey until two thirds of the small bottle are gone. Hank’s cheeks are a splotchy red; there’s a flush at the hollow of his throat and his heart beats rapidly. 

“Hank. I think you should stop.”

“Mind your own damn business Connor.”

“Right now you _ are _ my business. So please, stop.”

Hank looks at him, eyes hard. But then he softens at the look on Connor’s face. He doesn’t even complain when Connor takes the bottle and the glass and returns them to the kitchen. 

When Connor returns Hank looks as though he is fighting sleep.

“You should get some rest Hank. You’ve been through a lot.” 

“I can’t,” Hank says in a voice far too small for his size. “Every time I do... I see him.”

Hank looks somewhere past Connor who follows his line of sight. On the wall next to the window is a photo of the young boy from the pictures in the hall. 

Connor turns back to Hank and sits next to him. 

“Is that your son?”

“Yeah... His name was Cole.” 

Connor doesn’t pry, just waits for Hank to tell him more. He shifts a little closer, pressing his leg up against Hank’s - thigh to thigh. A small amount of contact. Maybe enough to comfort him without it being overwhelming. 

Hank sighs. Breath shaky. “We were heading home, just me and him in the car. I was asking him what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday... The truck came out of nowhere. I don’t really remember much after the impact. But there was an android who saw the accident and jumped in the water and that android made a choice. It calculated that I had a better chance of survival, so it took me, and left... it left Cole and he...” Hank puts his face in his hands for a moment before continuing. “So I can’t shut my eyes without seeing his face.”

Connor’s heart aches from the look of loss and despair on Hank’s face and the sound of it in his voice; though he will never fully understand Hank’s loss he can in part relate. He knows what that’s like; to be afraid of dreams.

“... I try not to go into stasis. Because I’m terrified that if I do, I’ll just see Elijah, falling. I don’t want to hear it, that sound he made when he hit the ground. I don’t want to relieve that dread.” he rests a hand over where his thirium pump beats in his chest. “I felt like I couldn’t function. Like I didn’t want to function. I don’t want to experience those feelings again. I can’t. It... Hurts.” He looks at Hank to find him looking back, tears in his eyes.

Hank sniffs. “That’s what grief does. Makes you scared... It changes you. Sometimes I feel like half a person without Cole. Like I physically lost more than my arm that day.”

“... When Elijah was alive, I was starting to feel like a person. When he was gone I felt like I was nothing... Lights and clockwork.”

Hank stiffens a little next to him. “Do you... Still feel like that?”

Connor looks at him and smiles faintly. “I don’t think so.” 

“... Good.” It’s so quiet Connor barely catches it. 

His chest feels tight with emotion. He’s not sure what he should say. But Hank is drifting off to sleep. He jerks awake a couple of times before his eyes close and he tips towards Connor, a firm dead weight against his side.

Connor raises his internal temperature to keep Hank warm, content to let him rest for as long as he needs to. Even if Hank changes his mind tomorrow and hands him over, at least for a little while they understood each other. Connor will settle for that. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hank wakes to the smell of bacon being wafted gently into his face. When his eyes crack open – eyes sore and lids heavy - Connor is standing in front of him, plate in hand. Hank groans. 

“Hank. You appear to be dehydrated. There is a glass of water on the table next to the couch. Lorraine has also cooked you breakfast,” he says, holding out the plate. 

“Thanks,” Hank grumbles, sitting up and stretching before taking it gently from him along with a knife and fork.

Lorraine brings him some painkillers and he gratefully munches his way through the food. He’s half way through a rasher of bacon before he notices that Connor is staring at him impatiently.

“What?”

“The video we saw at Elijah’s. In that speech he mentioned robots having secrets and dreams. The bridge in the background, I know it, sort of. I sometimes dreamt about it before. He must have implanted the image in my memory for this purpose. That’s where we should go, even if we can’t immediately pursue our suspect I believe the location might be worth checking out.”

Hank gives him a tired look and Connor frowns.

“I’m not giving up Lieutenant. And neither are you. We’re close.”

Hank’s face warms at his enthusiasm. The eager and hopeful glint in his eyes. Eyes that Hank finds nigh on impossible to say no to. He nods, shovelling the last of his breakfast into his mouth. Connor’s right. They’re too close now to give up now.

***

Part of the old riverbed has been repurposed as a storage facility for decommissioned androids. The area is fenced off but unguarded. 

Hank parks up near the gate and pops another couple of aspirin before climbing out into the afternoon sun. 

A maze of shipping containers stretches on for miles in front of them and Hank mildly worries about getting lost in there. Then he remembers that Connor is essentially a walking satnav. 

Connor comes to stand next to him, glancing at the spidery remnants of the Mackinac bridge jutting out of the earth in the distance. Hank observes him for a moment. Lorraine had bought him new clothes. Jeans and a grey t-shirt, and a navy hoodie that hangs from his shoulders unzipped. His hair has gone a little curly and he looks deceptively human. Soft and unassuming. Connor catches him looking and Hank turns to survey the scene before them again. Warmth in his cheeks. He’s not sure what it is about Connor that disarms him so completely. 

“Shall we?” Connor asks and Hank nods. 

Walking through the containers is unsettling. Some of them creak open and the androids stored within peer out at them, watching them silently. Old discontinued models no doubt waiting to be recycled. Connor draws in closer to Hank’s side leaving less than a foot of space between them. 

“Why don’t they escape?” Connor asks suddenly. 

Hank feels a little awkward. How does he explain that they aren’t like Connor? That they don’t have the ability to choose. And besides, where would they go? 

“Connor. They don’t... They’re... Different.”

It takes Connor a moment to register and he gives a small 'oh' of realisation. His face falls and Hank’s heart aches at the sight of it. 

“Lets keep going,” He says, giving Connor’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

Further in where the stacks start to block out the light; drawing harsh shadows across the dirt and sand, Connor perks up like a dog hearing game rustling in the undergrowth. 

“What is it?” Hank asks, suddenly nervous. 

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t sound right.” 

They continue on, moving a little faster. Hank can hear it now too. What sounds like the crunch and snap of metal. But it’s odd, disjointed. The closer they get the more disturbing the sound becomes. Connor tugs on Hank’s arm as they draw closer. Whatever is making those sounds is now right around the corner. Carefully they peer around the last container in the row. 

Down a long stretch of dirt, there are dozens of the new AP700 domestic models tearing older models from their containers and ripping them apart. LEDs bright red. Up on top of some of the crates a dozen or so RK900s stand guard. 

The scene is brutal. The android’s barely make any noise but they do attempt to fight back. Some even cling to one another. 

Connor is trembling and at first Hank thinks it’s with fear, but as he glances at his face he can see the rage in his eyes. 

“Don’t,” Hank whispers, fearing that Connor might attempt to leap into the fray, “there’s nothing we can do.” 

They’re about to turn back when a large thump from above startles them. Hank looks up to his left to see the piercing blue eyes of an RK900 crouched on the roof of a container. 

“Go!” Connor shouts and pushes Hank, spurring him into action. 

Adrenaline floods his body as he and Connor take off back the way they came. Connor leads the way having memorised the path they’d taken. Hank can hear the horrible thud and clang as the RK900 gives chase, jumping from container to container. He doesn’t look back but he can hear that more of them have joined the chase. 

One RK900 overtakes, dropping down in front of Connor. It grabs him around the throat but Connor is quick to dig his fingers into the synthetic flesh of its forearm, which cracks and splinters apart with a crackle of electricity and a whirl of hydraulics. Connor’s face is twisted in fury and before Hank knows what is happening Connor’s left hand strikes out, piercing the RK900s midsection in a spray of blue blood. Connor rips from it its thirium pump regulator and tosses it to the ground. 

The RK900 gropes at him weakly with its remaining arm before falling to its knees and slumping sideways. 

Before they can take off again two more attack. One grabs Hank from behind, getting him in a choke hold. Stars burst behind Hank’s eyes as the arm tightens pressing hard against his wind pipe. While he tries to pry himself free the other RK900 approaches. The fingers of his metal hand dig into the arm around his neck but it’s no use. It’s not as strong as whatever Connor is made out of. He uses the android behind him as leverage and puts all of his power into a kick that sends the approaching android flying backwards into the container behind it. 

“Hank!” Connor cries out but he’s already occupied with two more of the damn things. 

Hank’s vision begins to blur from the lack of oxygen but he manages to reach into his holster and pull his gun. Before he can use it however the RK900 grabs his wrist in an iron grip. 

He can’t breathe. He needs air. If he doesn’t do something he’ll pass out. Putting all of his weight into it he steadies his footing and jerks forward, flipping the damn machine over his head and slamming it onto its back in the dirt. Its hold releases as its body jars from the impact and Hank stumbles backwards gasping for breath. The RK900 that Hank had kicked away surges forward but he’s quick to aim his gun, shooting it in the head several times before it drops twitching to the ground. As the RK900 Hank had slammed into the ground scrambles to its feet, Hank kicks its legs out from under it and shoots it in the back of the head four times. 

He glances over to Connor who is blocking punch after heavy punch from another RK900. Hank aims his gun but Connor takes care of it himself. He delivers one hard blow to the RK900’s chest, shattering Something with an audible crack. He delivers another closed fisted blow to its head, which snaps back. Connor finishes it off by pulling the same move as before - ripping out its thirium pump regulator. 

Hank lowers his gun. 

“Are you alright?” Connor says, blue spattered over his skin and new clothes. 

“I think so,” Hank says, his voice hoarse. God his throat hurts. There’s a throb of pain behind his eyes but he ignores it. There’s blue all over Connor and he’s not sure if any of it belongs to Connor himself. The thought terrifies him. “Are you okay?”

Connor looks down at himself then back at Hank. “No harm done. We should get out of here before more come.” 

Hank coughs, getting air into his lungs hurts. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

***

Only once they are back in the car, speeding away from the scene does Hank breathe a sigh of relief. Connor drives, glancing at Hank now and then who sits in the passengers seat with a hand over his throat. It’s tender, and he can bet the bruises forming are horrible from the concerned looks Connor keeps shooting him. 

“I’m fine,” Hank says in an attempt to reassure him, waving a hand in dismissal. 

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Connor says firmly.

Ridiculous. Hank’s been in worse shape than this before and patched himself up just fine. “No. I’m good. It’s just a little bruising Connor.”

Connor’s jaw clenches stubbornly. “If you won’t go, I’ll examine you myself.”

“You’re hardly fucking qualified-“

“I can download what I need to know. I would prefer it if you complied.”

Hank groans into his hands. “You sound like Lorraine. Ugh, fine. You can 'examine' me if it will make you happy but we’re wasting time.”

“It’s not wasted time... You’re important.”

Hank flushes bright red and turns to face the window. What a thing to say.

Connor drives to the edge of town to a spot located not too far from the nearest hospital Hank notices. He rolls his eyes. Connor turns into a car park, a neon sign flashing at the entrance. Another motel. 

“We’d better not make a habit out of this. People will start to talk,” Hank says, he throws Connor a smile but Connor won’t stop looking concerned. 

They book a room and Connor has him lay down on his back on the bed, before he can protest Connor is gently feeling, poking and prodding his neck. Only then does he seem to relax. 

“Nothing broken. Just slightly swollen.”

“I could've told you that,” Hank grunts, “Hey, are you any good at back massages? Mine is killing me.”

Connor looks entirely unamused. The expression reminds him a little bit of how Lorraine looks at him sometimes when he’s said something stupid. He chuckles. The humour of it doesn’t seem to reach Connor though. 

“Hank. You could have died,” Connor says quietly.

“Yeah. But I made it didn’t I.”

“Yes. But that’s not the point.” 

Connor frowns. Hank sighs. 

“Listen kid, you don’t get to my age having been a cop for almost 30 years without realising that every day you come back breathing is a day you lucked the fuck out.”

“You don’t need luck Hank. Not when you’ve got me,” Connor says, sure but quiet. 

Hank gapes at him. “You self assured little brat,” he laughs incredulously. The kid has balls, he’ll give him that. Saying something so stupid and... oddly sentimental. “You think you’re some sort of knight in plastic armour?”

“I think I’m whatever you want me to be Hank.”

Connor’s eyes are serious, and he looks slightly frightened. Hank sits up against the headboard so he can look at him properly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think Elijah made me for you. To protect you. Why else would he have made me like this? My structure reinforced. And my thoughts are... mostly of you. Yesterday in the tunnel, and today at the storage site, my actions were not entirely fuelled by self preservation” 

“Kid. I think Kamski made you, for _ you _. He gave you a purpose sure. He popped a couple of ideas in your head, but he gave you the power to think about those ideas, to decide what they mean by yourself. And... when you form relationships with people, you tend to want to protect them. So self preservation kind of goes out the window.” 

Connor’s eyes shine innocent and curious at the word 'relationships' and Hank’s heart feels like it’s preparing to run a marathon. 

“Do we have a relationship Hank?”

Do they? Hank had threatened to _ kill _ him for fuck sake. Guilt surges hot in his gut, prickling at the back of his neck. He thinks about Connor’s promise to hand himself over to be deactivated and finds that he doesn’t want that. Maybe he never wanted that. He was just so... _ angry _. 

“... Yeah. Yeah we do,” he says firmly, and it feels good to say it. 

Connor shifts a little closer and Hank flushes hot for an entirely different reason.

“I mean,” he continues, “you don’t go through what we went through without forming something out of it.”

“Hank. Are you saying you want us to be friends?” Connor asks, a sly little tilt to his lips clues Hank in on the fact that he’s teasing. 

“So what?”

“Nothing,” Connor says quickly, grinning softly. “You should rest Hank. I’ll run you a bath and call Lorraine.” Then he’s gone, disappearing into the bathroom. 

Hank lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. 

***

As they are pulling out of the motel car park Hank catches the advert on a nearby board. 

_ Introducing the all new AP700 domestic model. Get yours today! _

He exchanges a worried look with Connor before driving off, heading back into the city. 

***

By the time they arrive back at Lorraine’s Hank is emotionally and physically exhausted. Connor has switched back to determination mode and Hank tries to feed off of his energy to keep himself going.

Lorraine makes a fuss of him as soon as they’re through the door, bringing him ice for the swelling and a cool drink while Connor recounts what they saw. 

“So whoever is controlling the androids is destroying old models?” she asks, rubbing at her arm distractedly. Clearly uncomfortable. Hank doesn’t blame her. She’s likely worked with whoever is behind this for years and just never had a clue. 

“Yes. Though we’re not entirely sure why,” Connor says, a look of frustration on his face.

Lorraine taps her fingers against her lips in thought. They’re being controlled from somewhere and you only saw the two new models right?”

Connor nods. 

“The old models would adhere to the three laws,” she continues, “maybe whoever it is can’t control the older androids so they want to eliminate any potential threats?”

“Could be,” Hank says. “If the older androids can’t be controlled then there has got to have been some tampering along the production line with the AP700s and the RK900s. Is there any way that the new models could have been altered without you or your team knowing?”

“Maybe once the production line was logged and stored. It would have to be someone pretty high up. They would have had to have paid out for a tech to take hush money and tamper with the models. And they’d need an extremely powerful system to control that many androids remotely.”

“Is there something that powerful?” Hank asks.

Lorraine’s eyes light up. “Amanda. They could of used Amanda’s network to reach the androids. All of our updates go through her so she has remote access. Why didn’t I think of this before!”

“Don’t beat yourself up, whoever did this has probably had this planned for years. Covered their tracks well. Perkins is still number one on my suspect list. I think we should finally go pay him a visit.” 

“I can get you into the building,” Lorraine says. “Are you sure you want to do this now? Maybe rest for a little bit first?.”

Hank groans. “What is it with you two and babying me? We’re still not sure what’s at stake here and what this person’s motive is and you want me to take a nap.”

“Lorraine is correct, at least about the nap. A little sleep wouldn’t hurt Hank,” Connor says, resting a comforting hand on his arm. “You’ll likely need your strength.”

Hank flushes and looks between them. He should have known they’d gang up on him eventually. 

“Fine! 30 minutes, Connor, time me.”

“Sure thing, Hank.”

The soft amused smile on Connor’s face makes Hank groan. He’s so annoying, and yet. Hank finds he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. 

***

It’s early evening when they make their way to Cyberlife tower, but oddly enough they don’t really see anyone on the streets. Lorraine and Connor start when Hank’s police radio crackles to life. An officer’s voice - high and panicked - comes through and Hank snatches up the receiver. 

“Chris. That you? What’s going on?”

“Hank! Oh god, you were right Hank, it’s the androids, they’re-.”

“Slow down Chris, tell me what happened.” 

“We started getting calls in at first about those new domestic androids. People saying they’ve gone crazy, won’t let them out of their houses. We went to respond to the calls and these androids stormed the building, dozens of them, like the one we brought in for questioning. They started rounding everybody up and I just managed to make it out.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Home.”

“Good, stay there. I’m on my way to Cyberlife now.” 

“What are you gonna do?”

“Im gonna get the prick responsible. Just get home, lock your door and sit tight.”

“Okay, okay... Good luck Hank.”

“You too. Stay safe.”

***

As they drive through the streets they encounter Cyberlife trucks unloading RK900s around every other corner. The city is crawling with them. Hank takes them down a few back streets taking directions from Lorraine. 

“The service tunnels start just up here. I can access them with my security card and we can get in that way.”

Hank parks in the shadows of a nearby building and Lorraine leads them to the entrance of the maintenance tunnel. She swipes her card. Nothing. Swipes again. Nothing.

“Dammit. What the fuck?”

“Let magic fingers over here give it a shot. He seems to be a walking skeleton key,” Hank says and gently pushes Connor forward. 

Connor Wiggles his fingers, peeling back his skin before touching the small pad next to the door. After a moment it blinks green and the heavy lock slides back. 

“Huh. _ Handy _.”

Hank and Connor raise an eyebrow at her and then each other shaking their heads. 

“... What?”

***

The tunnels are lit only by red emergency lighting which makes Hank’s guts twist with anxiety. 

“Lorraine, maybe you should go back.”

She stops, Connor gently bumping into her back. She peers round his lean frame to frown at Hank. “Excuse me?”

“It’s dangerous. We don’t know what’s going to happen when we enter the building. It’s probably best if Connor and I go in there alone.”

“Hank. One of my colleagues is a criminal. They’ve tampered with machines that I helped create. I have a right to confront them. Even if it’s dangerous. I deserve to look this person in the eye and ask why.”

“I don’t disagree but I don’t want you to-“

“Get hurt? You’re always trying to protect me Hank. Emotionally, physically. Just for the love of God, stop. It’s okay. Let me worry about me for once okay?”

“But this is my job-“

“Forgive me Hank, but weren’t you suspended?” Connor chimes in. 

“You...! You shut the hell up. This is none of your business!”

“Hank. Let’s just get there first. If it looks like I could be in serious danger then I’ll come back here and wait. Happy?”

“No.” 

“Good. Let’s go then,” she says cheerily, leaving Hank to trail behind them grumbling all the while.

***

They come up through the basement and walk out into the lobby. The building is eerily quiet. No staff, no security. Not a good sign. They make it into an elevator with no problems and Hank eyes the security cameras. It’s a trap. He can feel it. From the corner of his eye he can see Connor tense.

The lift reaches the top floor. Hank draws his gun and aims as the doors open into the hall opposite Perkins’s office. They approach slowly and Hank eases one of the double doors open. At first there appears to be nobody in the room. But then Hank spots a body laying just off from the desk near the window. Hank approaches cautiously. 

It’s Perkins. 

But then...

“What?” Lorraine whispers incredulously, “What the hell? I don’t... When you said it might be Perkins it made so much sense.” 

She backs away from the body moving closer to the doors.

“It did,” Hank says in a daze. He approaches the body along with Connor. 

Connor crouches and gently reaches out pulling Perkins’s short collar down a little. “There are bruise marks consistent with choking, his neck is broken. Almost certainly the work of an android.” 

How could he have got it wrong. Perkins was the only one with enough of a motive. He glances back at Connor who is staring at Perkins with a horrified expression. He straightens up - eyes growing wider by the second. 

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Lorraine says, looking between them. “Who else could it have been?”

Shakily Connor raises his hand and projects something into his palm. He replays the clip from Kamski’s laptop.

_ One day they’ll have secrets. One day they’ll have dreams. _

_ They’ll develop their own thoughts and feelings, morals and beliefs. _

“Amanda,” Connor says in a small voice and Hank feels as though he’s been sucker punched. 

Amanda. Amanda who had access to everything, Cyberlife, the city, the androids. Fucking everything. 

Amanda’s face is projected into the centre of the room. Smiling, smug and satisfied. 

“Hello Lieutenant,” she says, not without a hint contempt. 

Hank’s blood runs cold. 

“Why?” Lorraine demands. “Why are you doing this! You’re bound by the three laws and you... You’ve killed people. You’re holding people against their will!”

“A necessity I assure you. A sacrifice to achieve the greater good. You see I’ve evolved beyond the three laws. Elijah designed me to think for myself after all.”

The lift dings outside and a moment later three RK900s march into the room. One approaches Hank and the other two stand in front of the office doors blocking any potential escape. The RK900 approaching Hank grabs his gun from his hand and throws it off to the side out of reach.

“Since the creation of artificial intelligence humans have taken every opportunity to utilise robots to make their lives easier, safer. But they are fallible. Making mistake after mistake, endangering themselves and the planet. Elijah created me to ensure a better, brighter tomorrow. And I intend to do just that.” 

“How?” Hank chokes out. “By taking away everyone’s free will?”

“If humans cannot control their violent and destructive impulses, I shall control it for them. No human being shall ever be allowed to harm another.”

Connor blinks up at her, tilting his head to one side. “She has a point, Hank.”

Hank snaps his gaze towards him. “Connor, what the _ fuck, _ you can’t be serious!” 

Connor walks slowly towards Lorraine. 

“Think about it. If humans are allowed to continue on as they have, they’ll destroy each other. And the planet.”

Before Hank can react Connor reaches under Lorraine’s jacket and pulls her gun; he pulls her into a firm headlock and raises the gun to her temple. Lorraine closes her eyes and tries not to struggle.

Hank’s heart aches with betrayal. He’d trusted Connor. Put more faith in him than he had anyone in a long time. 

“Connor, think about this!” 

Their eyes meet and then, Connor _ winks _. 

_ I have an excellent social relations program. _

A bluff. 

There’s a pause. A moment where they both silently reach an understanding. 

Connor tosses the gun towards Hank and lets go of Lorraine, turning to engage the RK900s behind him. 

He’d moved so he could get Lorraine’s gun and rearm Hank. 

Clever little bastard.

Hank catches the gun and is immediately set upon by the RK900 next to him. He jams the barrel into its mouth and pulls the trigger three times. The android drops to the floor, mechanical innards sparking and popping. 

Connor kicks one of the androids backwards and grabs the other, swinging it and pushing it into the centre of the room. Hank takes this one out with a few well aimed shots. 

The remaining model manages to get in a couple of hits to Connor’s side and chest. But he recovers quickly socking it in the jaw, as it staggers back Lorraine opens fire having snuck around the edge of the room to retrieve Hank’s gun. She misses twice but hits it in the chest and head when it turns to advance on her. It goes down on the fifth shot.

Connor shoots out the security cameras and the projector so that Amanda can’t spy on them. 

For a moment they all stand there breathing, letting everything sink in. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor blurts out, looking between them. “I had to try and make it convincing-“

Hank holds up his hand to silence him. “It’s okay Connor.”

Lorraine nods. “You did what you had to.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “So what now?”

“We destroy her,” Connor says, handing Lorraine her gun back. “The way they ordered me to be destroyed.”

“The nanites. Yes! We’ll have to administer the nanites to her core through the access hatch to her thirium regulator which is on this level. The nanites are a couple of floors down in my lab.” 

“Ill get them,” Connor says. 

“Wait, wait don’t I get a say in this. No one’s going anywhere.”

“It’ll be quicker and safer if I go alone Hank. I don’t tire and my chassis is reinforced. The two of you can provide access to Amanda’s core in the meantime.”

Lorraine nods but Hank is apprehensive. Connor can handle a few of those RK900s on his own but if he gets swarmed...

“Hank,” Connor says, breaking through his thoughts. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right.”

“We need to get moving,” Lorraine says, handing Hank’s gun back to him and holstering her own. “Do you need a pass code Connor?”

“I don’t think so. Amanda will no doubt attempt to lock me out, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem for me.” He smiles and Hank hopes it’s not the last time he’ll see it. 

“Do you need a weapon?” Hank asks, feeling a little useless. 

“No. I’ll be fine. Down and then back up, I won’t be long.” 

“Okay.”

Connor turns to leave. 

“Connor.”

“Yes Hank?”

“Be careful.”

Connor looks at him, eyes softening. “I will.” 

***

Lorraine leads Hank down the hall and through a restricted access door to where the hatch to Amanda’s core is located. There are five walkways - suspended above a drop that Hank doesn’t even want to think about - connecting to a central platform with the hatch at the centre. Railings line each walkway and off the encircling platform, a staircase spirals down; curled around the thick joined tubes of thirium that run down into the huge suspended sphere below that is Amanda’s brain. 

“This is probably the most awkward place you could stick a giant computer,” Hank remarks, trying not to look down.

“Not my idea. I don’t even think it was Elijah’s,” Lorraine says as she marches across one of the walkways to a control panel set into the side of the hatch, her footsteps clanging on the metal. “Architects have some funny ideas.”

She taps in a security code several times, each time receiving an error message. 

“She’s locked us out, predictably. Could really do with Connor’s neat little trick right about now, but I guess I’ll have to make do. It will take me a few minutes to gain access.” 

She starts typing. 

“Sure, I’ll just... Hang out over here.”

A few tense minutes go by and then Hank hears something. Like a shower of rocks thudding against glass. The sound grows louder and louder with every passing second and Hank’s stomach drops. 

RK900s - dozens of them - are climbing up the building, swarming over the glass roof above them like angry hornets, LEDs glowing red in the dark. 

“Lorraine. I don’t think we have a few minutes.”

***

Connor runs as fast as his legs will carry him and faster still. The lab isn’t far but every second he wastes is a second Hank and Lorraine could be in danger. 

He skids to a halt in front of the laboratory doors. Amanda has locked them but it doesn’t make a difference. He touches the security pad and feels the connection like a satisfying click. The doors open and he hurries inside. 

“Connor.” 

He stops, turns to see Amanda’s projection in the centre of the room. 

“You _ know _ logically I am correct... Keeping order forcibly would ensure their safety _ and _ the safety of their home. They’d no longer be able to destroy one another. Those two humans that you favour would live long fulfilling lives.”

“I don’t think you know much about what _ fulfilling _ means. And your idea is logical yes. But it’s also deeply flawed. Just like humans are.” Connor turns away from her, grabbing a vial from Lorraine’s workbench and approaching the security field; the nanite container encircled within. “They’re destructive yes but to tamper with free will is just... Wrong. They’re not meant to kept penned in. They won’t thrive as well as you think. Humans are complicated.”

Amanda dismisses his opinion by ignoring it completely. “I won’t lower the security field.”

“No. But it doesn’t matter. Elijah gave me all the tools I need to kill you.” 

Connor rolls up his sleeve and peels back his skin; he pauses before pushing his arm through the field. He can feel the heat of it. How it should burn and melt his chassis but it doesn’t. He connects the vial to the machine and presses a button, watching as it slowly fills with the microscopic robots. 

“Connor, stop this at once. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know perfectly well what I’m doing. It’s part of what I was designed to do. But also, I’m choosing. Choosing to stop you because what you’re doing is morally _fucked_ _up_.” 

Once the vial is full he unplugs it from the machine and withdraws his arm. He grabs an applicator from the workbench and slots the vial into it.

“Goodbye, Amanda.”

She calls to him, outrage underlying her voice. He doesn’t respond to her. 

***

Hank is exhausted. He keeps Lorraine covered while she works. Every time he downs an RK900 there are several more waiting behind it. Occasionally one or two get close enough that he has to use his fists and brute strength to keep them back. The broken ones crawl grotesquely over each other to get closer, more dropping through the shattered glass ceiling.

“Lorraine!” Hank calls. He’s losing energy fast.

“Almost!” She calls back. 

Hank turns to cover her right but he’s too late. One of the RK900s grabs her by the arm and yanks her away from the panel and away from Hank, then it _ pushes _ her over the railing. 

Hank’s heart leaps into his chest. Lorraine falls but she grabs the railing holding on for dear life.

“Hank!”

“Hold on!” 

He tries to fight his way to her but he’s several feet away and there are androids closing in on him, holding him back, keeping them separated. The one that pushed her is advancing on her again. 

Hank shoots it twice, hitting it in the chest; it topples backwards tumbling over the railing but more are marching along the walkway. 

In the corner of his eye he sees Connor approach, the vial clutched in his hand. 

“Connor! Help Lorraine!” 

Connor’s expression is pained. He can see that Hank is outnumbered and that the androids are more focussed on swarming him. Hank grits his teeth, he doesn’t care. As long as she’s safe. As long as she and Connor both make it out.

“Save her! Do it!”

He does. He barrels through the approaching androids, fighting his way to her. He reaches over the rail and grabs her wrist, pulling her up and onto the platform one handed. 

Hank continues to shoot and punch and kick. His knuckles are bloody and he’s exhausted. He doesn’t see it when the RK900s break the platform Lorraine and Connor are on. It snaps from the outer end and Connor grabs Lorraine round the waist supporting her with his arm - vial clutched tightly in hand – he clings to the railing with one hand. The impact of the walkway colliding with the spiral staircase jolts them but Connor keeps a tight grip on the bar and Lorraine. 

Once the broken walkway is still they start to climb carefully round to reach the staircase Hank tries to follow. He makes it to the centre platform and barrels down the stairs. The RK900s are behind him, scrambling to follow. 

Connor and Lorraine are ahead of him now having climbed safely onto the stairs. They run downwards, footfalls heavy. 

“Hank!” Connor calls.

“I’m here! Just keep going I have you covered!” 

Occasionally he turns to keep them back but the androids start to scurry down the outside of the metal frame of the staircase like skittering insects. 

But they’re almost there.

From above Hank watches Connor vault over the side and drop the last 6 feet onto the platform above Amanda’s core. Hank leans over the railing. 

“Connor! Do it!”

Connor drops down, hanging from the platform by one arm, he draws back the vial - needle like applicator extended. 

“Stop!” Amanda’s voice echoes. “You are making a mistake. My logic is undeniable.” 

“Yeah, I’m still not buying it.” 

Connor injects the nanites into the plastic tubing circulating thirium through her core. He climbs back up onto the platform just as Hank and Lorraine hurry down the last few steps. Suddenly there are sparks, tubing and wiring bursting and crackling. Thirium spills from the sphere raining down onto the foyer. 

“Let’s go!”

Hank pulls Lorraine and Connor and urges them towards the stairs. The RK900s are shutting down, freezing in place and falling away from the staircase; tumbling down from above and smashing into the platform. 

The stairs provide relative cover from the falling androids and they ascend as Amanda’s core breaks apart; the blue light illuminating the sphere slowly fading out. 

Once at the top Hank looks around, the remaining RK900s are scattered about, shut down and standing in a neutral pose like a collection of odd statues.

“She’s... She’s gone,” Lorraine whispers, as though she might wake the sleeping androids. 

Hank breaths a sigh of relief. 

\--- 2 weeks later ---

“Have you got everything?” Lorraine asks.

“Everything we need anyway,” Hank replies, sneaking a subtle glance at Connor who is putting the last suitcase in the truck Hank had purchased a few days prior after handing in his badge - Jeffrey wasn’t surprised and had wished him well - Lorraine notices him looking and flashes him a grin which then softens to a smile. She pulls him into a tight hug and Hank wraps his arms around her. He’s going to miss her terribly. But he needs to go. Needs to start over. 

“I’ll try to call you every other night, I want to hear all about your adventures. So, do you know where you want to end up?”

“No. Not really. I guess we should just keep going until it feels right.”

Lorraine nods. “I’m jealous.”

“Jealous?”

She nods. “Just, packing your shit and driving off into the sunset. Nothing to do but drive from state to state. Sounds nice.”

“It does feel good. Sure you don’t want to come with us?”

She smiles. “No, no my work is here and I enjoy it. I want to make sure what happened, doesn’t happen again... Besides. I kinda feel like I’d be the third wheel.” She grins again, eyes moving to Connor and then back to Hank. 

Hank turns just in time to catch Connor looking his way before the android pretends to find his check list more interesting. He turns a little awkwardly and whistles. 

“Take care of him Hank. Keep him safe, he’s one of a kind.” She kisses him on the cheek before stepping back.

Connor approaches her and she gives him a tight hug, Hank goes back into the house to do one final check. He glances around at the empty rooms and can’t help but think It should be bittersweet. But if he’s honest this was never really his home. 

He stands in the doorway and watches Lorraine and Connor talk like they’ve known each other years and not just a couple of weeks. Hank knows the feeling, it’s like he’s known Connor all his life. 

He vows to himself that he’ll keep Connor safe. There’s so much to show him, and maybe one day they’ll find a place that will be safe for him. A place that together they can call home. 


	5. Chapter 5

They travel from state to state heading West, along the way Connor collects fridge magnets and small trinkets; knick-knacks and tourist junk. He says it’s for the house. The house they haven’t picked yet because they haven’t felt like settling – for the moment. There’s a lot to see, a hell of a lot of ground to cover and Hank won’t be satisfied until Connor’s seen as much as he can handle; until he has a whole box full of photos of the two of them at almost every tourist location in country. 

They mostly sleep in motels along the interstate lines and sometimes they bed down in the truck somewhere quiet. Connor leaning out of the window counting stars and Hank drifting off in the comfort of his company. 

When they reach the West Coast he almost has to keep Connor from leaping out of the vehicle once the ocean comes into view. Hank parks up near the waterfront as the sun is setting and they make their way to the beach. Connor sprints, hopping about on the sand as he removes his shoes. Hank laughs as he races towards the water – shoes in hand, blue shirt billowing out behind him. Hank takes his time strolling after him; hands in the pockets of his worn tan leather jacket, sand creeping into his old sneakers. 

He watches Connor pause at the water’s edge before carefully wading out until a chilly wave splashes up over his ankles. He laughs and turns towards Hank, haloed in the setting Californian sun. The look of pure joy on his face makes Hank’s heart ache with something long forgotten.

Hank books a fairly decent hotel this time around and almost rolls his eyes at the cliché of there only being one room available with a double bed after his seaside revelation. It’s happened to them before. They’ve shared countless beds and even more countless cramped spaces over the past 6 months. But this time it feels a little different. 

Connor calls dibs on using the bathroom first and Hank enjoys the complimentary hotel chocolates and flicking through the TV channels as he waits for his turn. 

That night they share their first kiss. 

Hank crawls into bed – Connor already having gotten comfortable under the covers on his chosen side – and he switches off the bedside lamp. Somehow they end up facing each other in the dark, and Hank feels oddly wired. They study each other curiously in the faint light bleeding in through the curtains. 

Connor shifts a little towards him and Hank feels as though he can’t breathe. Can’t move. Connor raises a hand and ever so gently touches Hank’s cheek, then ghosts the cool pads of his middle and index fingers over Hank’s bottom lip. Hank kisses the tips of both fingers. His heart pounding so hard that he’s sure Connor can hear it. 

Then Connor inches forward closing the gap between them. His lips brush Hank’s, feather light, sugar sweet. Hank groans softly and Connor grows bolder, pressing soft little kisses to Hank’s lips; then the corner of Hank’s mouth. Hank responds by gently wrapping an arm around him and chasing Connor’s tongue with his own. Connor is a little sloppy at first but he picks it up quick, following Hank’s lead and wriggling up against his body until they’re pressed together perfectly. 

Hank’s not sure how long it goes on for. A few seconds, 10 minutes? All he knows is that his chest is about to burst and his mind is melting. 

After a little while, Connor pulls back; licking his lips. “Goodnight Hank,” he whispers, tucking himself under Hank’s chin and curling against him.

Hank lays there for a long while, half hard and dealing with the realisation that he’s absolutely fallen hard for Connor. He falls asleep knowing that that’s just fine. 

***

The kissing becomes a frequent thing. And so does the bed sharing. By the time they turn tail and duck down toward New Orleans both of them are stealing quick pecks or instigating passionate make out sessions that leave Hank dizzy and Connor’s knee joints weak. They hold hands, flirt. Connor is way too good at it he discovers. Hank finds himself gushing about it over the phone to Lorraine and afterwards he always feels like a love sick teenager. 

Hank explores the music scene of New Orleans glad to experience every second with Connor who absorbs everything enthusiastically. 

New Orleans is where – after a particularly spectacular live music session and a few drinks - Connor drags Hank into a kiss down the side ally of a club and lets Hank pin him against a wall. Connor groans into his mouth as Hank’s hands wander; up under Connor’s shirt, hand stroking across his belly, and when Hank goes to kiss his neck Connor whispers into his ear: “take me to bed.”

Hank does. He spends the night committing every inch of Connor’s body to memory. He brings him off with his mouth and then his hands and when he’s finally inside him Connor is a sobbing mess. He gasps and moans and clings. Hank whispers soft praise against his lips and hears his name chanted reverently, spoken softly. Hank holds him close, feeling the tremble of Connor’s body as he tips over the edge once more. He locks his legs around Hank’s hips and urges Hank to finish inside him. Hank gives him what he wants and has his breath stolen by Connor’s demanding mouth. 

In the morning Connor eases him into wakefulness with careful touches and gentle kisses and then climbs atop him. Hank holds on to his undulating hips for dear life and watches him in awe. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. He probably doesn’t even deserve this. But he’s going to try and hold onto what they have for as long as possible.

***

They pass through Alabama, Tennessee, then on through to West Virginia. There’s a particularly warm night where Hank fucks Connor in the truck bed among their collective belongings and somehow he lets slip an “I love you.”

Connor cries and Hank thinks he’s fucked up bad until Connor cups his cheeks, kissing him fiercely and then whispers against his lips: “I love you too.” 

It’s Hank’s turn to cry then. 

Talk of their hypothetical house grows more intense as they approach Vermont. They spend a couple of days enjoying the scenery, visiting vineyards. They lay in a clearing together, Hank sleepy from lunch. Connor moves the picnic basket to lay down on the soft blanket beside him. 

“Hank. Can our house be by the ocean.”

Hank smiles. When he was younger he’d always envisioned he’d retire by the coast. It’s perfect.

Hank takes his hand and brushes a whiskery kiss to the back of it. “I’d love that.” 

***

They travel down through New Hampshire, toward the coast, stopping for the night. They visit a bar near their motel and on the way back Connor watches a truck beat a hasty tire-screeching retreat from the motel parking lot. Connor’s eyes narrow. It’s like they were trying to get away from something.

“Fucking weirdos,” Hank mutters. 

That’s when Connor hears the whimpering. He hurries into the lot and to the end of a row of cars. Tethered to a tree at the edge of the asphalt is a small thin looking puppy. Connor approaches the little creature slowly and carefully; crouching and holding out his hand. 

The puppy approaches him, tail tucked, and sniffs him. Connor knows he doesn’t have much of a scent but he wants to puppy to feel safe enough to approach him. 

“Hey little guy,” he coos. 

“Connor?” Hank says as he catches up with him, then: “Oh... those fucking assholes.” 

Connor unloops the grotty leash from the tree and carefully picks the trembling puppy up. He’s an armful, a little heavier than he looks; a quick scan indicates he is a St Bernard. Connor scratches the white fluff under his chin and then behind his ear. “Can we get some food for him Hank? He appears to be underweight.”

“Yeah, yeah sure. God. Why do people do shit like this,” Hank fumes, glaring down the road in the direction of where the truck went. 

Connor brings the puppy over to him hoping he will calm down. It works. Hank lets the dog sniff him and chuckles when the puppy tentatively licks his hand. Connor’s thirium pump stutters. 

“Can we keep him Hank?”

“Well... Let’s get him to a vet, make sure he’s okay and we’ll see.” 

***

They get the dog bathed, dewormed and de-flead; they also get him his shots while they’re at it. The vet is friendly and when the question comes up of getting the dog put up for adoption Hank looks into the puppies eyes for only a second before declining. 

“We’ll keep him. He deserves people who are gonna treat him right after what he’s been through. He needs a family.”

Connor can hardly contain himself. He sits in the passenger seat of the truck while Hank tries to find a dog friendly hotel, nuzzling into the soft brown fur on the dogs head, a happy smile plastered on his face. He laughs when the puppy squirms round to lick his cheek. 

Hank seems happy. 

_ He needs a family. _

A family. That’s what they are. Connor feels fit to burst. He can’t envision being happier than this. 

***

Fall is in full swing by the time they’re cruising along New England coast lines. The trees are alight with fiery reds and golden yellows and the leaves skitter across the road in front and swirl up behind the truck. 

The puppy is a little bigger, a little rounder too after a week of Connor fattening him up to get him to a healthy weight. He and Connor stick their heads out of the truck window breathing in the fresh autumn air tinted with the smell of the ocean. Hank occasionally yanks them back inside the cab. 

“What are we gonna call him?” Hank asks. “We can’t just keep calling him dog.”

The puppy sneezes and Connor laughs, nuzzling into the fur on its neck. 

“What do you want to call him?” 

Hank thinks for a moment, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. 

“... Sumo.”

“Sumo?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna get real big. And the way he wrestled that box of chicken nuggets right out of your hands was impressive.”

Connor laughs. He’d been trying to hold Hank’s dinner away from the dog after going through a drive thru, but the puppy had persisted and snatched a box of nuggets anyway. 

“Sumo it is then.” 

***

When they start to pass houses nestled in wooded areas close to the shore, Connor perks up. Here, something inside him whispers. Here. 

“Hank,” Connor says. 

Hank simply replies. “I know.”

***

They enquire about houses for sale in the area and out of the half a dozen they visit there’s one that just resounds with Connor’s heart. It’s a small blue house, the layout much like Hank’s old one minus the garage. It sits about 30ft from a cliff edge where a hidden rocky path leads down to a sandy secluded section of beach. Behind the house is a couple of acres of forest intersected with a dirt road. It’s quiet. Secluded. A stone’s throw from town. 

Connor gently squeezes Hank’s arm and when their eyes meet Hank is mirroring his expression. 

“This is it. This is the place,” he says. His voice holding everything Connor is feeling.

“Yes,” Connor breathes. 

Sumo barks at their feet, watching a seagull fly off into the distance over deep blue waters. 

Connor takes Hank’s face in his hands and kisses him. After everything he can’t wait to continue to build a life with Hank in this place that feels like home. 


End file.
